Kantorakk
by WeaselNinja1206
Summary: Kantorakk is a Necromancer who answers only to himself. After A message from his friend asks for his aid, he finds himself drawn to a camp full of Rogues, and agrees to help remove the demonic threat if only to hide from his past. . .on hiatus for now
1. Enter Kantorakk

Disclaimer: I only own the Character names, and the story is my own take. The rest belongs to Blizzard, and I'm not making any money off of this. That said, DON'T SUE THE POOR COLLEGE STUDENT! I HAVE NO MONEY! On another note, please review, or I won't post. It's that simple, and I arleady have chapter 2 almost done. All reviews are welcome- just make sure I GET THEM!

He had always had a fondness for rain, even now, as it poured down from the sky like blood from a gaping wound in God's belly. He liked to think that it was blood from a wound instead of tears from an angel's eyes. His brother had always been optimistic like that; for every possible negative cause or outcome, he would always see the brighter side of things. As the hooded, black cloaked man stepped up the boulders and onto the grass from out of the deep creek rapidly filling with storm water, his dark eyes narrowed under his brow. It was that same optimism that had been his brother's downfall, and now, he was the last of the family line. He hated his little brother for that; some day, his teachers and elders would force him to marry, to procreate. It was not something he looked to with anticipation, and not for the first time in his life did he almost wish he had not been born with the burden of his fore-fathers, if only to avoid the loveless marriage that surely awaited him, ready to crush his spirit.

Forcing his mind to the present and out of his unpleasant ruminations, he stopped abruptly and crouched, pulling back the hood of his cloak in order to hear better through the downpour all around him. He was still for about five minutes, and when it was clear that he was alone and there was no threat sneaking up on him in the dark, he continued, the sad glow of the moon providing him with all the light necessary for his journey as he donned his hood once more. He walked at a steady pace, the long strides not making any noise as his black leather boots took solid steps through the increasingly soggy ground.

For perhaps the twelfth time since he set out towards his destination, he pondered whether or not he should have tried to find a new colored cloak. It was probably an unwise decision to remain in all black, with bones protruding from the mail underneath his cloak, but he was a stubborn man, if nothing else. True, the rumors spoke of a dark wanderer in black causing mayhem and destruction; even more importantly, it would make it harder for _her_ to find him. Still. . . he had owned and used this cloak since long before the rumors started around the wanderer, and he refused to change for the simple sake of convenience; after all, his kind were always met with suspicion. It wouldn't matter if he made it worth the irritation now, would it? No, he re-affirmed himself again, he would not change his dress- especially since he was already running from one problem, and he didn't wish to compound it by hiding. Avoidant he may very well be, but a coward, he most certainly was not.

His thoughts left him as he heard the chattering of the small and irritating demons commonly called 'Fallen'. Withdrawing a sharp and wavy dagger from within his cloak without a sound, he nimbly and quietly slipped into the freezing, rushing waters of the creek until only his eyes remained visible from underneath his hood. He smirked behind pursed lips as the cold hit him; the creek water not nearly as cold as the underground rivers by the subterranean city in which he had been raised. He watched attentively as a Shaman and a half dozen Fallen came into site from the forest thirty feet to his right, carrying on with war cries as they chased a wounded deer. It collapsed and was swarmed by the ugly beasts, waiting eagerly for their leader to take his fill so they too, could eat. As they all crowded around their kill, the pale man in the water smirked again, and reached out with his magic.

There was no warning; one moment, the demons were circled above their kill as their Shaman leaned in to take the first bite of meat, and the next, the corpse exploded with the fury of a miniature volcano, bone fragments proving to be a most lethal form of shrapnel. Several tired to cry out as the bone flew through their frail, misshapen, and malnourished bodies. Blood of the deer and the demons filled the night sky, a loud 'pop' followed by shrieks, and the night was silent once more. The man's dark green eyes were neither joyful nor sad; merely satisfied. It was an unclean trick to be sure, but it never failed to work in the proverbial pinch. The smirk threatening his thin lips once more, he sheathed his blade and rose from the water onto the soggy and rainy ground, approaching his victims warily, looking for any sign of life. Finding none, he stopped about six feet from the nearest corpse. His left hand moved across his body to hold his right elbow as his right hand played across the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. This was the first contact he'd had with evil in at least a week, and he knew from previous experience that resources should not be squandered, and every opportunity should be taken advantage of. His trained ear could not detect any other threat near by, though signs of taint were abundant.

Deciding to be cautious, despite the possible ramifications should he encounter a human contingent, he willed energy back into the corpses before him. Seven skeletons rose from the bloody remains of his victims. Six bore Scimitars made from stone, the shields upon their arms made from expanded bone. The seventh simply stood, white energy dancing around it's fists, the cackling hum filling the night air before going silent, the glow remaining. Taking advantage of the possibly brief respite, he willed the ground before him into shape, a hulking humanoid taking solid form before him: a Golem. He frowned slightly; he preferred those made of fire, but for traveling at night with minimal impediments, he was forced to go with dirt. Considering his available skills, he manipulated his energy once more, bone solidifying into a cuirass around his chest and shoulders, then his arms, and legs. Thus prepared, he removed a small bottle from within his cloak, and uncorked it. Taking a brief swig, he almost smiled as the burning liquid went down, capping the bottle and returning it to it's original hiding place. Drawing a deep breath, he continued onward, his new entourage moving along with him silently and quickly into the dark of the forest.

Dawn found him in a foul mood- and the sound of distant screams and the column of smoke rising into the dawn sky most certainly weren't helping. He entered a clearing after crossing a fast flowing river and was treated to quite a scene.

Palisades stood with tired women peering over the tops, firing arrows into a swarming crowd of Fallen, Zombies, and small spiked creatures. Shamans threw fireballs at the walls over the heads of skeletons. A large man, covered in blue war paint, screamed to the heavens, the song of the Bear Clan upon his lips. Catching a glance of the scar down the right side of the big man's face, the hooded figure smiled; Aggowrath was here, as promised. Sending his skeletons to aid his friend, he summoned a Golem of fire, unleashing it upon the Shamans hiding behind the mass of smaller Fallen and Undead. Removing his Scythe from his back, the hooded figure strode closer to the mass of evil creatures, the blade of his weapon glowing brightly in the dawn's light. His own minions strode boldly into the tired mass of demons, hacking their way to the aid of the winded Barbarian. They moved in a tight formation with a discipline unseen amongst those spawned by evil, the mage releasing blast after blast as they moved through the teeming mass of evil bodies, reaching and then passing the Northman, a giant smile upon his face.

The shifting horde was slow to realize that it was being flanked by a small force; not even as massive spears of bone mowed down handfuls of zombies and Fallen did the dark creatures adapt. Eleven skeletons and a few zombies turned to assault the Necromancer, intent on cutting through the bone and cloak and into the flesh beneath. He moved towards them and the quickly stepped away, never letting more than two or three within range at a time, his back always unthreatened, and cutting them down at the same time. Having done away with his would be assailants, he watched as one of his skeletons fell under the massive fists of a large and furry creature, with disproportionate shoulders, arms, and legs compared to the rest of it's body. Unleashing more of his own power, the pale, green eyed man poured his energy into the beasts as his skeletons pushed forward. Weakened by his curse, the large monstrosities made easy prey for his superior constructions. As Aggowrath rejoined the fray, and arrows stopped targeting his own servants, the black clad Necromancer assessed the battle.

Many demons lay dead, and the seething mass had thinned, the diminished horde beginning to fall back from the palisades. His Fire Golem swung madly in the middle of it all, no Shamans standing in sight. Summoning Four more skeletons and another two magi, he unleashed them into the side of the force, hoping to drive the enemy away from the camp. He spied a pale woman in red, horns rising from her skull and a bow in her hands, screeching in her demonic tongue from the center of the mass of evil. She was obviously the leader of this assault, and it would be a good idea to remove her. As he prepared a curse, he felt three hard punches to his chest and stomach. Glancing down, he found three arrows protruding from his armor, and his eyes locked with the demon-woman's the second they rose up from his armor. Narrowing his eyes in anger, he charged forward to answer her attack with one of his own. Before he reached her, however, he was intercepted by a mass of Fallen swarming from the Palisade in a full retreat. They came at him in a wave, and he had to swing with all of his strength to keep from being overrun. He managed two swipes of his Scythe before it caught in the skull of one demon, and he was hit with four daggers as soon as it failed to come free on the return swing. He knocked away his attackers with a return swing, giving it more momentum by letting go of the weapon and flinging it towards the little demons as he withdrew two sharp, wavy daggers and began to systematically cut through the irritating beings.

A downward sweep with his right hand cut across the face of one and lodged the tip into the skull of another as the left hand blocked a rusty sword and then plunged through an eye in a return stroke, before twisting free and going through the neck of a second. Twirling the blades in his hands with un-unnatural speed, the blade in his left pointed backwards as the right one moved forward, and a step forward and to the right brought him to another target. A hard swing with his right cut through the miniature demon with ease, the left following his arm behind him as it cut another into halves. The thud to his left leg went unnoticed, but the pain that followed was not. Furiously, he abandoned all finesse, hacking and spinning the blades in his hands with a barely controlled rage. One after another, the little red demons fell beneath his hate-fuelled blows, their bodies crunching under his feet as he walked over the dead. Faster and faster, his body turning in circles with his precise steps, his blades carved a halo of blood in the air around him. When the little monsters had all either died or fled, he stopped moving, his blood spattered cloak clinging to his armor, his hood still in place, his left leg covered in blood and throbbing in pain. Seeing that the horde had fled, and the bodies remaining were still, he stood upright and took a deep breath, his rage immediately surrendering to his iron willed control. Flicking the gore from his knives with a motion of his wrists, he sheathed them once more, resting securely in scabbards strapped to his back, hilts facing downwards and out, like he preferred. Putting weight tentatively onto his now injured leg, he withdrew his trusted flask from within the depths of his cloak, and took a deep swig. Placing it once more into it's reserved spot, he turned and was met in a strong grip by the bloodied Northman.

"My friend! You finally made it! Thank the heavens!" The big man squeezed him so hard that he felt like his armor was going to become imbedded in his skin.

"Aggo. . .can't. . .breathe!" He slipped out. The bigger man immediately released him, giving him a warm thump on the back.

"Sorry, Kan. But damn if it isn't good ta see ya! I thought we'd just about had it- demons in a real army and everything, right?" They turned and moved slowly towards the encampment, Kantorakk taking great care not to limp, despite the pain in his leg. He saw, as they came nearer to the entrance, that four of his skeletons had survived, and they moved into a guard formation around the pair as they continued. Aggowrath smiled, and looked down at the pale man.

"Good thing you showed up when you did, or else I might have had to go and find you myself- guessin' that I survived the mornin', anyway." He grinned. "I see you still haven't bleached your hair." It was true. Unlike most Necromancers, Kantorakk had short cropped, wavy black hair underneath the dark hood he wore. Never taking his eyes off of the encampment- or the women eyeing him with distrust and their bows held taught- his quiet voice almost went unheard by his burly friend.

"I have yet to submit to that particular superstition, my friend. Just removing color from one's hair does not make one closer to Rathma, nor does it increase one's power."

"Rathma is supposed to be your deity, right? " Kantorakk merely nodded and continued, slowly removing his flask once more, and taking a swig. His friend noticed this and took the flask, waving it under his nose. "Whoa! This is some strong stuff, Kan. When did you start drinking shit like _this_?"

"Awhile ago." He responded, swiping the flask back and putting it away. "And you should know better than to take another man's liquor, especially mine. I've killed men for less." His friend laughed aloud as they arrived at the entrance, Rogues keeping their bows trained on him. A glare from the large Barbarian was enough validation for most, though one shot the pair a dirty look and ran out of view. Ignoring the blood running down his leg and the certain bruises forming underneath his armor, Kantorakk turned to the bigger man, pulling down the cowl of his cloak.

"I understand from your message that the dark wanderer passed through and now demons run wild, but I have to ask- why haven't these people evacuated to the Rogue's Monastery? Surely it would be safer there, and the horde we just fought would not have posed such a large threat." Aggowrath's face adopted a sad expression, his voice low.

"Kan, their monastery was overrun by demons. Andariel and her horde ambushed them- I don't know all the details, but they did." The shorter man stood still in contemplation. After a minute:

"How long ago?"

" 'Bout a month, maybe a little more. Why?" His friend either didn't hear him or ignored the question; Aggowrath figured the second, knowing Kan as he did.

"How many were killed?" The Barbarian shrugged and shifted his feet, crossing his arms. Looking down, then up again, deep in thought, before finally answering.

"I have no idea. Probably more than 30 or 50, I'd guess. You'd have to ask the priestess Akara, or that Kashya broad." Kantorakk smirked at this; Aggowrath normally did not voice his opinions of strong or. . . difficult women aloud. He was officially intrigued; she must be very mean for him to speak badly of her out loud and surrounded by her fellow rogues.

"I think I should speak with this Akara, Aggowrath. Care to go in first so they don't shoot me right away?" With his friend's laughter filling the air yet again, they walked past the palisades, and into the camp.

Tents were spread throughout the area, and rogues still stood on rock ledges that allowed them to see over the edge of the palisade walls. Blood stained the grass in spots and trails, showing where the wounded had been taken during the fight. Rogues stood in groups of two or three, talking quietly amongst themselves, and giving him either fearful or dark looks when they saw him. A fire was dieing down in the center of camp, and supply wagons were spread along the western side. Following the trail of blood, the two made their way to a large white tent, where several women lay in cots, all in various stages of injury. Aggowrath excused himself to go get something, and headed back the way they had come. Walking calmly through the door, Kantorakk stepped inside and out of the entrance, hoping that his dark dress would not stress the wounded too much. He saw an older woman in purple robes tending to a blond woman whose chest and abdomen were covered in blood stained bandages. walking slowly towards her, he stopped just out of earshot, waiting patiently. He had only been standing for perhaps ten seconds before the blond girl in the cot fixed him with a glare that was a mix of fear, surprise, and distrust. Her blue eyes narrowed sharply, and the woman in purple turned to face him, her face registering interest and surprise as she saw what he was, more than the fact that he bowed to her. She was, after all, a High Priestess, if her garb was anything to go by, and all senior magi should be treated with respect.

"Greetings, Necromancer. I am Akara, High Priestess and Sister of the Sightless Eye. Welcome to our camp. What brings you here?" Her voice was tired and carried the weight of a leader who has seen too many of their subordinates fall.

"I have come at the behest of my friend Aggowrath the Barbarian of the Bear Clan. I am in need of slight medical assistance." With that, he removed his cloak, the arrows and blood drenched leg coming into plain view. Akara frowned, nodded, and motioned him to follow her into the back of the tent. Before he followed her, he turned to look the Amazon in the eye. Hers were sharp and suspicious; he knew his carried no emotion, and he took some small satisfaction that this confused her. With a brief nod, he looked away and followed the Priestess into the back; he leg was starting to actually hurt. He entered the back room and sat down heavily, moving his cloak so his leg was visible. Akara went into a slight trance, and he could feel the energy swirling about them in the room. After a few moments of that, she began to dress the cut in his leg, taking care not to damage the exposed artery.

" Do you have a name, Necromancer?" She asked him as she removed several rusty bits of metal from the wound in his thigh. His reply was brief and simple, just as he liked to do.

"Kantorakk." He said nothing, nor did he shrink in pain, as she jerked the tips of the knives out and blood flowed freely.

"When did you last sleep, Kantorakk?" He took a deep breath, and was silent for a moment before simply choosing to ignore the question. Instead, he asked one of his own.

"How many sisters remain, and more importantly, how many were killed when you were forced from your monastery?" Akara sighed sadly as she began to wrap his leg.

" I take it the Barbarian told you we were driven from our ancestral home?" her voice sounded even more weary as she reflected on the loss her order had suffered. He simply nodded, not too fond of speaking when he could get away with it. She gave him a look he could not place before she answered him. "We have roughly 30 sisters left, only half of which are near an age to fight. Our order used to have 320 within it. Most are now dead and servants of the demon queen sitting in the depths of our former home."

"I am sorry to hear that." He truly meant what he said, but he knew it sounded hollow- his voice carefully trained to never reveal emotion, as it made some spells go awry.

"I'm sure. How did you meet the Barbarian?" He almost smiled, but all he really did was blink slowly, ever mindful of what his face portrayed. After a minute of silence, he decided to answer.

"When I was 17, I was ordained in the priesthood, and sent to the North to aid in quelling an outbreak of undead. He was to watch me, and ensure that I did not violate any Northern customs. While it took a few battles before we became friends, he quickly learned to show me the same respect I had to him and his people. We did some adventuring afterwards, and then he was forced to return home. He is a close friend, and when he sent for my help, I came as quickly as I could. Aggowrath is rarely humble enough to know when to ask for help." The priestess chuckled at this and sat down before him. He didn't look like a teenager, given his bearing and the way he spoke, she decided.

"We have been faced with more and more demons in the wilderness, and supplies are continuing to become harder and harder to come by. The path east has been closed since the monastery is no longer safe, so Warriv, the caravan master, has been forced to stay here, though I do not know from whence Gheed has come." The necromancer pondered the name- a shady merchant whose name was so close to greed- coincidences, in his experience, were very rare. He focused on Akara as she continued. "I have asked your friend Aggowrath to help fight off the evil that has been trying to kill all that is good in these lands. Allaria, the Amazon you saw earlier, has agreed to help him, along with a sorceress called Amarien. He had told me earlier that he had sent for help from a most trustworthy man- I presume it would be you?" Kantorakk tilted his head and stared at her.

"You expect me to believe that Aggo used the word 'trustworthy'? I am quite sure he doesn't have that large a vocabulary. Are you sure he didn't say 'not bad' or 'tough', perhaps ?" Akara laughed at the dry tone with which he spoke, and decided that the man before her knew more about the man from the north than anyone else in camp, and was not completely devoid of humor. Even as hemocked his friend, there was no harshness behind it.

Allaria stared angrily after the pale man as he followed Akara to the back of the tent, trying to hide the limp. She knew only what her battle sisters had said of necromancers, and if she remembered correctly, not much of it was good.

"Who was that?" She looked across the open path to see Amarien sitting up, pained by the sling around her arm and the bandages around her chest.

"A necromancer, and an ugly one at that." Her words hid none of her distaste. Mostly because he scared her- not that she'd admit it to anyone.

"He didn't look all that bad looking to me. Maybe a little dirty, but if you cleaned him up and took away all the black. . ." The little voice was optimistic and full of mirth.

"Are you out of your mind? The man was paler than a corpse!" Before the little woman across from her could respond, they both heard a loud and cheerful voice that they both hated and loved at the same time.

"Oh! You mean Kan is still here? That's great! I wanted to give him something, but I didn't figure he'd still be here." The burly man clomped down to the feet of their beds and smiled at both of them. Amarien raised an eyebrow and sat up further.

"'Kan?' His name is 'Kan'? I thought necromancers all had white hair and scary names." The Barbarian smiled as he looked down at the petite woman.

"Kantorakk is a bit weird, even for a necromancer. He thinks their ritual of bleaching their hair and growing it out is a load of bullshit." The Amazon looked at him incredulously, almost at a loss for words. Finally, she decided to go with a neutral tone to avoid pissing of the giant and volatile man.

"And how in the hells do you know that?" Aggowrath smiled at the challenge in her voice that she wasn't quite able to hide.

"I've known Kan for years now." He said proudly. "He and I go way back, and if it hadn't been for. . . a thing back home, we would never have parted ways. He is the best friend I've ever had, even if he does scare the shit out of most people." He looked back to where he saw his friend's shape take a drink from something through the flap that separated the back of the tent, and a frown spread across his scarred face as he watched, and he became concerned. The girls noticed this, and Amarien spoke up.

"Aggie, what's wrong?" She was the only one who got away with butchering the proud warrior's name like that, but it normally never failed to get his attention. "Aggie?" Nothing. "Aggie?" Still nothing. "Aggie!" her voice was definitely concerned now. He _never_ ignored her. The two women traded a worried glance, and the blond kicked him hard with her foot. He turned his head to look at her.

"Amarien just called you her private man-whore, and you didn't even shit around with her. What's wrong?" The Amazon loved to antagonize the big man, mostly because the sorceress would pacify him with a word before he would try anything. His face was grim, and his voice was worried- a rarity in and of itself.

"Kan _never_ lies. _Ever._ Kan is someone who is always honest- even if it's the wrong thing to say, he won't sugar coat it, even to a child or a dying man. I asked him once if he'd give up on the drinking, and then made him swear not to let it get to him." He looked back to the curtain. "I guess he lied." his voice was sad now; hurt. It was then that the cloaked man came out from the back and strode up to the three, nodding in greeting to the two women and handing an amulet to Aggowrath. He looked his friend in the eye.

"I think you might be wanting this. Akara has agreed to let me help you." The big man took it angrily from his pale friend and howled at him.

"You sun-starved sunnova bitch! I thought you promised not to touch the drink ever again! I just saw what you took, and I was willing to let the first flask go because you were traveling day and night, but if you've got more, then that's it!" The whole tent shook with the big man's anger, and went still with shock when the smaller man's eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward, looking the bigger man in the eye.

"If you were to remember correctly, _Aggowrath_, then you would remember that I told you to go to hell when you tried to make me swear to it! More importantly, who are you to watch my habits, huh? I seem to recall you and a certain opium den that you frequented. At least _my_ habit is under control, and doesn't threaten my companions! Or need I remind you ofDerrik!" The barbarian looked down and his shoulders slumped as all fight left him, suddenly ashamed at a seeming failure of his past as the smaller and evidently more vicious man continued. " Don't put your paw where it isn't wanted, _cub_, or it may get cut! As I recall, I had to pull _your _ass out of the fire and you'd still have that damned habit if I hadn't knocked some sense into you! So before you go trying to control my habits, bear in mind which of us actually _has_ control! Now, I'm going to find my damned Scythe. Try not to make an ass out of yourself while I'm gone, alright?" And with that, the pale man with the menacing aura strode out of the tent.

"What an asshole!" Amarien said aloud immediately, trying to cheer up Aggowrath. The Amazon merely watched the door where the necromancer had departed, surprised at his sudden display of viciousness, the fact that he had stood right up to a man twice his size, and wondering who Derrik was.

"No, Amarien. He may be small, but he has a temper like my people, and he's right." The big man's voice was full of remorse. "I sometimes forget that he doesn't make exceptions for his friends when it comes to arguments." He sighed heavily. "Don't worry, give him ten minutes, and it will be forgotten." The small woman was incredulous.

"You're kidding! He lands a low blow and you just forgive him! No way!" Aggowrath laughed and smiled.

"Yes, way, little one. He is my blood brother. We may fight, and sometimes violently, but it never takes more than a day. You will see- I rage at him, he lets me have it, and we share a drink in the end. I should go and thank him for the amulet. I will see you both later." He turned and strode out of the tent in the direction of the necromancer. The women shared a glance as he left, and were silent for a moment before the Amazon looked back at the doorway and voiced a thought.

"Blood brother? What the hell did he mean by that?" The sorceress could only shrug and lie back on her cot, and will her injuries to heal faster. She didn't worry about it too much, but if the necromancer gave Aggowrath any more trouble, she decided, then she would give him a piece of her mind.


	2. Meet the Team

An hour later found the large barbarian sitting by a low kept fire in the center of the camp, slowly sharpening the individual spikes of his mace in the morning light. Beside him on the log, a half eaten loaf of bread sat with a battered tankard of ale. His eyes were intently focused on the spikes of his mace as he sharpened it and looked for breaks in the spikes, or gore that still remained after the morning's fight. He was oblivious to the admiring looks of the rouges around camp, and to the frightening man who quietly came to sit with him, coming to rest only a few feet away. When he did glance up, he saw that Kantorakk had joined him, his face a blank as always, staring into the small flames of the fire before him. They sat there for a long while, neither feeling the need to speak, nor apologize for what had been said earlier, all transgressions forgotten. After several hours of silence, a question finally formed in Aggowrath's mind. Without looking up from his work, he spoke softly.

"Did you have any luck finding your Scythe?" The other man merely shifted in his seat and threw a shattered blade, minus the pole, to his feet.

"The damn things broke it when they fled." The big man chuckled at this, the frustration evident in his friend's normally impassive voice. He always did have an odd affection for the weapon, but Aggowrath couldn't blame him; his father was dead, and a gift from a dead parent was always important, even if it was a piece of shit. Kan seemed to follow his train of thought.

"And don't you dare call it a piece of shit, or I will punch you right in the mouth." He laughed again, glad to have his friend with him once more. Neither would admit it, of course.

"Of course not. What happened after I left for home? I heard of some crazy, creepy bastard causing trouble, but nothing solid." Kan crossed his right ankle over his left knee, and drew in a deep breath.

"I went on a few assignments for my superiors. After I finished my last task, I just didn't go back." He reached for his flask, and took a drink, not looking anywhere else.

"Why not?" He looked up out of the corner of his eye as his friend put away his drink, and noticed his brow narrowing slightly- a sure sign that it was something big.

"She is still after me. If I went back, she would have a trail to follow." Aggowrath nodded in understanding; he knew how much his friend hated the broad; hell, he'd spent half of his adult life avoiding her. Dumb woman.

"How do you know for sure?"

"The elders think I need to restore the line, and that she's the girl to do it. More importantly, she's the only one who _wants_ to. This way, I am still in the order, and I don't have to deal with her."

"Ah." He figured that made sense; don't give them a chance to expel you, and they can't, especially if you're not there. He figured he better warn his friend with what he knew. "Yeah, about that. Kan, I hate to tell ya, but she knows you're out here somewhere." He noticed the millisecond of fear and disgust that crossed over his friend's features before the face was calm again. "She's out looking for ya. She already passed through here, though, so she might have made it out before the passage east was closed." It never, in his experience, hurt to be hopeful. Sadly, it was an attitude that Kan didn't agree with.

"No." Aggowrath looked up from his work, confused.

"Whadda ya mean, 'no'?" He received his friend's patented '_you are a dumb-ass_' look. Kan sighed.

"Think, Agg. A necromancer with short black hair? And mean as all hell, who hangs out with a crazy barbarian? It's a dead giveaway, my friend." Aggowrath didn't have much to say to that; Kan was the one who always did the planning, so if he was concerned, then there was a reason. He looked back down to his mace, wishing that his friend would just let him fight the broad. They were silent for awhile, Kantorakk just sitting, the Northman trying to think it through. After ten minutes, he had run out of options that didn't involve killing her.

"Well. . .shit, Kan." For once in a very rare while, Kantorakk actually smiled a real smile, not his usual half-smirk, and chuckled.

"Indeed." Uncrossing his legs, the necromancer rose, and began to look around camp as he asked his next question.

"Where would I find liquor, Aggo? My flask is almost dry." Aggowrath didn't even look up from his work, though he did give out a derisive snort.

"Talk to the caravan master. Name's Warriv. If he doesn't have what ya want, go to Gheed, but be careful. He'll bleed ya for all you're worth." With a nod, Kantorakk rose and began to walk around. He was surprised by the actual number of wagons and merchandise available, even with the way east closed off. He spoke to a few men, his appearance intimidating them easily, for all knew that necromancers were only slightly better than demons. Despite their misplaced fear, he managed to find out which man was Warriv. He was a short man, his tanned skin making it easy to tell he hailed from the east himself. Kantorakk didn't notice this right away; it was almost noon, and he had never liked bright lights, as they hurt his eyes- a side affect of growing up underground. He made sure that the man had noticed his approach, before moving closer to speak to him. He was pleased to notice that the man didn't fear him like all of the others, and it helped to lighten his mood; the sun was too damn bright.

"Greetings, stranger. My name is Warriv, and this is my caravan. What can I do for you today, Necromancer?" His tone was warm, but polite, and Kantorakk found himself liking the little man easily. He made sure to keep his voice low and devoid of emotion- it wouldn't do to remove the fear factor; he needed his space, and he didn't like to answer questions.

"Greetings, Warriv. I am Kantorakk." He pulled out his flask and showed it to the little man. "I was told that you had a choice selection." The little man took his flask and sniffed it, before his eyes widened and he looked at the Necromancer in a new light.

"Well, Kantorakk, I must say- I am surprised that a man of your build can stomach this. Gahlein Fire-Spirit is a very potent drink. I know of some Northmen who can't handle a lot of it without making a mess of themselves." Kan nodded.

"I admit, it is an acquired taste. Nevertheless, I enjoy it. Do you have any for sale?" The tiny man hopped into the back of the wagon beside them and rummaged around for a few minutes. His head made an appearance from the back.

"It will run you 40 gold." Kantorakk said nothing about it being under priced. Opportunity knocked, and he would answer.

"Agreed." In less than five minutes, he was done, and began to question Warriv over the latest goings on in and around the camp, taking advantage of the man's seeming friendliness. Warriv was happy to oblige, and gave him an in depth story of how the Rogue Monastery was overrun, how the camp was set up, and how the tide of demons nearly wiped them off the face of the planet. It was about at that point that Warriv asked one of his own.

"Tell me, Kantorakk. Were you the one who attacked them from the side? I don't remember you from before, and I make it a point to meet everyone." When the necromancer simply shrugged indifferently, he smiled. "So it was you? Have you spoken to Kashya yet?" His voice hid none of his humor; the taller man huffed.

"From what I have heard, she hates men, and she hates necromancers even more. I have no need nor desire to speak with her. I already have her superior's permission to be here, and I do not need hers." Warriv grinned.

"I take it you're more comfortable with those that don't talk back? Or don't talk at all?" That caused a grin to break over Kan's face.

"I won't lie, my friend. Working around the dead all the time has distinct advantages." Warriv had a knowing look on his face.

"But that doesn't make up for a woman, eh?" Kan looked bemused, and looked the little man in the face.

"Warriv, have you ever met a female necromancer?" After a moment of thought, the shorter man shook his head, listening with sudden interest.

"No." Kantorakk smirked knowingly, and leaned forward to speak lower.

"They are twice as ornery, mean, and crazy as the rest of us. Most of us have some kind of a code of ethics. Our women don't even bother. With that in mind, why do you think we prefer the dead so often?" Warriv laughed hard at that. With a grin, Kantorakk bade him a good day and headed back to the fire, where Aggowrath was just finishing his lunch.

"Where's your tent?" his friend pointed to a large tent in the corner of the camp, with a giant two handed sword sticking in the ground with a Fallen skull atop the hilt, a ward against trespassers. With a nod, Kantorakk headed in that direction. "I'll see you in a few hours, Agg."

"Sure." As soon as Kantorakk was out of earshot, a softer voice made itself heard.

"Are you seriously going to allow him to just march into your tent and stay there?" He looked behind him as a fully dressed Amarien and an unarmed Allaria- a rare sight- made their way to the fire and sat on either side of him. Aggowrath smiled.

"Hello, little one. I'm glad to see you're feeling better." His voice then lost it'd enthusiasm. "You too, Amazon." Allaria huffed and took a piece of bread from the man, biting into it and chewing slowly. Amarien focused on the man beside her.

"You didn't answer the question. Why are you just letting him walk in and share your tent? You wouldn't share it when that druid came through." The barbarian huffed, but before he could respond, Allaria decided to poke fun at the two.

"Don't be jealous, Amarien. I'm sure if you asked to share with Aggie here, he'd kick out that necromancer in a heartbeat." Aggowrath fixed the Amazon with a frown while Amarien tried not to blush with mixed success. With his glare still fixed on the warrior woman, he answered the tiny one.

"Like I said before, Kan and I go way back. He's welcome to share my tent at any time. Besides," he said as he turned his attention back to his beloved mace, " No one will go near my tent, and Kan works better when people leave him alone." The Amazon decided to see how loyal the big man was to the pale one-she was sure he wasn't up to anything good.

"What do you mean by that, Aggowrath?" Amarien started to eat, but she did so slowly in order to catch every word. Aggowrath put his mace and sharpening tools down and looked up at the after noon sky.

"Well, we met when he was 17, and I had just turned 16. Bear Clan men always do so early, though he first thought I was a kid. I thought he was one creepy bastard." He smiled. " When I think about it, I still do. But we had to work together, and it didn't take long to finish our job. Running around fighting zombies and skeletons wasn't too much fun for me, and Kan took some kinda sick pleasure in throwing out freaky shit once in a while just to creep me out. After we were done, we roamed around from city to city, just having fun. But, it had to end, and we split up." He had a sad look on his face, and Amarien raised an eyebrow.

"Why did you have to split up, Aggie?" The big man crossed his arms.

"I had something going on back home that made me go back, and Kan had a mission to do for the elders in his city. He had to do it right away- part of the deal he made with them to stay out of the city. I couldn't go just then, so we said goodbye, and went our separate ways." Allaria was more interested in what he wasn't saying. She had a hunch he was really trying not to say too much about the necromancer in order to protect him from something.

"Why didn't he want to go back to his city, or his people?" _Bingo_. His face got a worried look, like someone who'd just let something very important slip when they weren't supposed to. He shifted, and when he didn't answer right away, the two women shared a look. The Amazon pressed onward. " Spill it, Barbarian." He gave her an angry glare, and she briefly wondered if she'd crossed the line, his body tensing as his voice was curt and angry.

"I swore not to speak of it. Just believe me when I say that he doesn't want to go home. You want to know, you ask him." Amarien tried to soothe the situation before the big man lost his temper- and he seemed close. Shooting the Amazon a glare to make sure she didn't say anything in order to make it worse, she ran her hand up and down his arm, using her most soothing and coy voice.

"We're sorry, Aggie. She was just curious, she didn't mean anything by it. We don't know anything about him besides what you tell us. But I do have one question. What made _you_ head home in a hurry, Aggie?" The Northman turned his glare to her, his face changing from an angry one to an impassive one. His tone was soft, but firm, his voice low.

"I can't talk about that either, little one. If you will excuse me, I need to speak to Charsi." With that, he got up, grabbed his mace, and walked off without a hurry or looking back. Amarien set aside her food and looked after him, worried, while the Amazon warily eyed the tent. After a few minutes of silence, Amarien looked to her friend.

"Whatever that was, it must be really bad." The Amazon nodded in agreement, never taking her eyes off of the tent the two men shared.

"I wouldn't worry too much. He likes you a lot, so he'll probably cave if you pester him enough. What worries me is how he won't talk about the pale guy. After all, it's not like we'll get the honest story out of the man in question, right?" Amarien nodded in agreement. Allaria was on to something. They were approached by Lilandra, a rogue who was close to their own age. They bade her hello happily; they hadn't been able to find her last night when the demonic tide hit the camp.

"Hi girls. How are you feeling?" She asked as she sat down with them around the dying fire. Amarien smiled, Allaria shrugged.

"I took a fireball to the chest. Damn thing melted my armor, and my javelins are now useless. I have to get new ones before we head back out."

"I got cut by a skeleton a few times, and passed out, but I should be okay in a day or two. I guess since we're still alive that we fought them back?" Lilandra's face took on a strange look.

"You two didn't hear, did you?" They shook their heads in confusion.

"Hear what?" asked Allaria concernedly. Lilandra looked around -scared.

"Well, we were about to lose. You two were nowhere to be seen, and the Barbarian looked like he was about to drop. It got even scarier when even more skeletons came from the side, but then they started hacking at the other demons. Then, when the Barbarian saw it, he started to laugh like a madman, and started fighting again. Then a big thing made out of fire walked through them, killing all of the shamans in seconds, and these big spears of bone just plowed through the other demons." She shook her head in disbelief. "I saw it, and I still have a hard time figuring it out. It was all coming from this scary guy in black. Blood Raven saw him, and shot him three times right in the chest. Creepy thing is, the guy just looked a her for a second, and then he _charged her!_ I couldn't believe it. I lost sight of him when he was swarmed by Fallen, but I heard later that the Barbarian brought him into the camp. Rumor has it he's a Necromancer." She visibly shuddered. Amarien and Allaria shared a glance, before Amarien spoke up.

"He is." The girl looked at her, shocked still.

"What!" Allaria nodded nonchalant, crossing her arms and looking over her boots.

"Yeah, the pale one and Aggowrath apparently go 'way back'." Her voice, for once, hid it's distaste-and respect-of the man. Lilandra, on the other hand, looked petrified.

"So he's. . .here?" Amarien smiled, and patted the girl's arm.

"Don't worry," her voice was soothing. "He seems a little mean, and a bit of an asshole, but he's not violent." Allaria didn't comment on the stupidity of that remark. It wouldn't do to have both of her friends pissed at her.

"Lilandra! Get back to your post! I said get rations, not gossip!" an angry voice interrupted them. Lilandra straightened right away, as though she'd been whipped.

"Yes Kashya! Right away!" Then, to the two women- "I gotta go. I'll see you two later, okay?" She dashed off in a hurry, not eager to earn any more of her superior's wrath. The Amazon laughed, and Amarien smiled. They sat back and relaxed, taking care not to aggravate their wounds. As they sat there, watching the camp around them, the sorceress voiced a thought.

"Allaria?"

"Hmm?"

"If what Lilandra said is anything to go by, then we owe Kantorakk a thank you." The Amazon snorted.

"You can thank the pale one all you want. He won't get shit from me." Amarien could only shake her head.

The redhead managed to slip over the walls without anyone noticing. Landing silently atop the roof of a caravan wagon, she flattened her body along the canvas, taking care to ensure that she could not be seen from any angle should someone look. All of her tracking had led her here. She had seen the attack on the camp, but had been unable to provide aid. She thought she had seen the druid, but the bastard gave her the slip. She clenched her teeth. Oh, she would find him. He could run, and he could hide all he wanted, but not forever. The Barbarian was here, she knew, and he was still alive. Her order didn't care about the Northern tribes; they didn't use magic, so there was little danger that they would be corrupted. He would be naturally drawn to the druid, and she would follow. When she found him, she would let them fight, and when the druid was weak, she would strike.

She smiled in the rapidly fading daylight. Never before had she failed to eliminate a target, and she was not about to start now. The trick would be keeping an eye on the Barbarian; the man had an uncanny knack for avoiding observation without knowing it. She lay there in the sun, absorbing the heat patiently. She would remain here until dark, when she would be free to inspect the camp and get a feel for things. She could feel the power of the priestess Akara, and knew that the woman was in no danger of succumbing to the evil that tainted the land. She frowned as a light buzzing filled her head, the kind that she always got when she was close to a powerful mage. Her sharp blue eyes fell on a tiny woman who sat by a fire, talking to an Amazon. The girl rose after awhile, and moved past the Assassin's perch, and the buzzing in her head neither increased or decreased. She frowned. That meant that there were at least three magi in the camp- Akara, the Sorceress, and a third. She focused on this presence, seeking taint within it, and finding none. She tried to focus, to get some idea of where this person could be.

There was a shift in the magical energies in the camp, swirling about in a manner that clearly was meant in a message to her: the mage knew what she was, that she was nearby, and what she was trying to do. The buzzing feeling in the back of her head disappeared as the mage hid their presence from her. Her eyes narrowed in the early starlight. This was never good. Any mage strong enough to recognize her presence would naturally be leery of her, and some magi felt so threatened by the presence of an assassin that they attacked outright, even if they were safe. Whoever had 'found' her had run into one of her kind before, and knew how to toy with her. Oh shit. That led her to believe that this person had been a target before. Double shit. That meant her workload had doubled. She focused once more, her eyes roving over the camp from her hiding place. They stopped and focused on a pair of bright green eyes hiding in the dark behind the campfire. She froze. The eyes were staring right back at her. _AT HER! SHIT!_ Her entire body tensed, and she prepared to either fight or run, but the stranger strode into the light, their. . . his eyes, focused on hers as he opened his black cloak enough to allow her to see him clearly, a smirk on his face. Her eyes widened in surprise.

A Necromancer! Her eyes narrowed and she frowned. He was staring at her still, his face not oriented in her direction, but out of the corner of his eye. She seethed in anger and frustration. It made sense now; Not once in the history of the order had a necromancer every truly been evil. They often did things that the younger girls saw as evil, and thus had an unpleasant history with her order. She could safely assume that this man fell into that category. He was sharing dinner with the Barbarian and the two women she had seen earlier, and they seemed to be asking him questions. His answers must not have been satisfactory; the Amazon looked irritated with him. She noticed he didn't seem to care, and then found herself mildly curious as to why he had short hair, and why it wasn't white. She waited until he wasn't looking at her, and dropped down into her element- the shadows. Things were now interesting.

He awoke not long after dusk, and swirled the energy within him into a tempest as he knew always confused the assassins. He closed off the energy within himself, and mildly wondered if the assassins had ever figured out the presence they emitted when they tried to focus on a mage. He smiled; if he ever met the woman, perhaps he would tell her. He just hoped she wasn't new an thought of necromancy as evil. He had already been through _that_ three times, and was not too keen to repeat the experience. He considered what he knew of assassins; they hated evil magi, they were stubborn, sneaky, often mean spirited, and they liked. . . _the high ground_. They had always attacked him from above, and at an angle. He frowned in thought. That left the palisade walls, and the canvas roofs of the caravan wagons. He smiled. They had never attacked him without seeming to know the area. His smile widened again at the challenge.

She would most likely be at the edge of camp, where she had the best clear view of everything in order to find her target. She probably wouldn't attack him in camp; he knew assassins hated doing anything where there would be witnesses. With that thought, he headed to the fire for dinner, and to see if he could spot her, and let her know he was up for the challenge.

The fire was already blazing away into the new night sky, and he took care not to get close, and stay in the shadows. Granted, he was screwed if the assassin mad her move, but she would be leery of him if he could so easily hide himself form her, so he decided she would probably play it safe, and merely watch for now. Aggowrath handed him some stew, and he quickly ate, lest he be wrong about his hunter. As his eyes roved over the caravan tops, he saw movement in the shadows across the camp, and his eyes focused there. Ah, yes. His night vision was far better developed than most, seeing as how he grew up underground. He saw she had bright blue eyes- if they weren't glaring at him and deciding how to kill him, he would have called them 'pretty'. She was near panic as he stared at her, and her decided to allow her a view of her target before the game began. Removing his hood and opening his cloak, he stepped into the firelight and let her see what she was up against. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, as the girls tried to get around to finding out why he didn't wish to return home to his people. As he watched his would be killer, he gave yes and no answers to their questions, making sure to contradict himself. Amarien figured out what he was doing and gave up; The Amazon probably wanted to impale him on a spear. He idly wondered if she already would have tried if she were still armed.

When he looked away to get another bowl of stew from Aggowrath, he saw that she had left. The smirk he had on his face disappeared. It had begun, and he was never one to underestimate an enemy. He heard shouting, and realized it was coming form Aggowrath. He looked to his friend; he and the two women were eying him suspiciously.

"What is it?" Aggo frowned.

"I was talking to your face for five minutes and you didn't hear a word I said. Give me one good reason not to pound you for not listening to me!" Kantorakk gave his friend the same look he always did before he put his friend's foot in his own mouth.

"Assassin." The Barbarian's face went grim immediately, the Sorceress paled and began to look around everywhere in fear, and the Amazon looked curious.

"What the hell do you mean, 'assassin'?" Amarien was in a near panic.

"Shut up, Allaria! Assassins are scary! They kill mages when they think they've fallen into evil!" Allaria seemed to follow, but then voiced another thought.

"Amarien, you're not evil." Both magi glared at her, and Kantorakk was quick to correct her.

"Neither are necromancers, yet every single one is attacked by an assassin at least once in their life, even those who never leave the city. You will find, Amazon, that what you and an assassin see as 'evil' are two different things." Amarien was in full agreement.

"On top of that, my elder sisters have several stories of when assassins deemed sisters evil just so they could kill them!" Allaria looked incredulous.

"Why would they so that?" She snapped back.

"Because they didn't like them!" Amarien was adamant. Allaria looked between the two magi. Seeing her look, Kan spoke again.

"She is not joking with you, Amazon. The assassins police themselves. They all have free reign to kill. They dislike my order so much, that they usually try to kill us on sight." Allaria smiled evilly.

"That might not be such a bad thing." This earned her a hateful look from Aggowrath, shock from Amarien, and a stare from the pale man.

"Just bear this in mind, _Amazon_," he said the word like it was foul. "In the history of the magi, the followers of Rathma are the only ones who have _never_ had someone fall to the powers of hell. Not the Sorceresses, The Zakarumites, nor the Druids can honestly make such a claim. Remember that the next time your ignorance speaks for you." He turned and left the campfire, rising his hood and disappearing into the night. The Barbarian glared at the Amazon.

"You are one dumb bitch, you know that?" The woman growled.

"You're lucky I'm wounded, or else-"

"Or else I would beat the hell out of you for your lack of respect, and you would try and fail to fight back. Goodnight, Amarien." He left for his tent. Amarien sat down and looked to her friend once in disapproval, before going back to her dinner. As they ate, she decided to fill in the other woman.

"When we get better, we're going to help them cleanse the Monastery." The blond had a sick look on her face as she heard this.

"So I have to apologize?"

"Yes." The little woman's tone left no room for argument.

"Damnit."


	3. A Dangerous Shadow

"I tried. Really, I did. But I can't help it. I hate him."

"You don't-"

"I mean it, believe me, Amarien. I hate him."

"You're just mad that he proved you wrong and made you look stupid."

"Shut your damn mouth."

The two women argued quietly in the dark of the cave as they followed the Necromancer, his minions, and Aggowrath through the dark passageways. It had been a week since the encampment had nearly been overrun and saved by Kantorakk, the fight now called ' The battle of the Blood Moor.' The following four days found Kantorakk and his Barbarian friend systematically combing through the Moor and corralling all the remaining demons into a cave in the ground- or at least, those they hadn't killed yet, anyway. Allaria had laughed at the Necromancer's plan, claiming that it was the dumbest idea she had ever heard. She had proceeded to suggest that he go after the assassin that was stalking them from outside the camp, instead of playing a game of cat and mouse. Instead of arguing with her, Kantorakk had merely left, and done most of the job by himself, with the aid of his skeletons, of course. He had made a surprising amount of gold in the process, with a 200 gold bonus by the end of the second day. That had been all the incentive needed for Aggowrath, and the two had been busy since. Allaria had been in a _very_ foul mood; she had been proven wrong, she hadn't made any money, and now her best friend was angry with her too- albeit for a different reason than being rude to the Pale One.

The tiny woman had become involved in a quarrel with the Amazon, who was unsympathetic to her complaints. Aggowrath was too busy helping clear the Moor to spend a lot of time with her, and Allaria had been quick to point out amongst her friend's whining that she had a tendency to ignore the big man when it seemed to suit her. That, apparently, had been the wrong thing to say, as Amarien was now convinced that the Rogue scout Amplissa had her sights set on the Northman. Of course, now the tiny woman decided she didn't want to share, and the added stress of an Assassin nearby did not help too much, either. Allaria's response had been to 'quit bitching and do something about it'- obviously the wrong thing to say. Both had been surprised when Kantorakk interfered, mediating between the two of them, assuaging Amarien's fears and repairing some of Allaria's pride in order to convince them to help him clear the cave.

Allaria had been quick to try and restore her pride.

"Finally willing to admit you need help, Necromancer?" She had scoffed when he had made the suggestion.

"No, Aggo won't shut up, and I need someone who will talk back to him so he'll stop pestering me." That had gotten a laugh out of the Sorceress, and irked the Amazon. He had gotten at the Sorceress too; often in the past few days, he would stop and stare out into some of the woods, or at a tree, or a part of the creek. Both of the girls thought it irritating and stupid, until Aggowrath had checked out where Kan was staring and found evidence that someone had been there _very _recently. That had been all it took to convince Amarien to try to stay on the pale man's good side; Allaria enjoyed her fright a bit too much.

And so now, they found themselves crawling through a deep cave in the Moor, dead demons and a few Rogue bodies strewn about the dirt floor. Both had allowed the men to take the lead, as the Barbarian made for a bigger target, and the Necromancer seemed to unnerve both of them. They had not failed to notice that he did not carry a light into the dark with him, though he remembered to bring a torch for everyone else. Even when they encountered the inhabitants of the cave, he tended to stay in the shadows, as opposed to running from torch to torch like the rest. As a result, his armor had far fewer niches and dents in it, most of the cave's occupants never seeing him until it was too late. The fact that he never seemed to slip in the water that sometimes pooled on the floor of the cave had been a constant source of irritation for the Amazon- the Barbarian waded through the puddles, The Pale One side-stepped them, and Amarien insisted on bringing up the rear. As a result, she had slipped into a hole lined with cave water, effectively leaving her soaking wet and chilled. Aggowrath had laughed as he helped pull her out as her armor had been stuck, Amarien had been in tears, and as God had been her witness, she swore that the Pal One's eyes had been laughing at her.

Hearing fighting up ahead, the two women shuffled forward, leery of tripping and falling flat on their faces twice on one day. They rounded a corner and stopped on their haste, it was dark, and the Necromancer was shuffling through the pockets that remained on the body of a purple colored zombie. He rose as they came closer, and stood there, arms crossed, narrow eyes glinting in the torchlight.

"Where's Aggowrath?" Amarien asked immediately, not seeing any other torchlight through the darkened tunnels.

"He is exploring the last of the cave. We have been at this for almost an hour, and if the spacing between the groups of demons we encountered is any indication, then the Moor is nearly cleansed." He shifted his robes in the dark, and produced a beautiful bow, which he held out to the Amazon. She took it, and looked at him with slight suspicion.

"I am out of identification scrolls, and I have no use for a bow. I assumed your training would be better able to put it to good use. If you don't want it, I could always give it to one of the Rogues." The calm manner in which he said it hid his mirth at Amarien's frown. Allaria knew from what the Barbarian had told her that Kantorakk rarely did things simply on a whim. She decided that this bow, coupled with his indifferent treatment towards her-which she assumed was the same as respect, for him- was a peace offering, an effort to clean the slate, and she could still decline the gesture. She glanced at him from under her eyebrows. In the dark, she could see his green eyes, a sharp glinting to them in the light of Amarien's torch, watching for her response. She gave a brief nod while she met his gaze, and put the bow into her pack. Hearing the characteristic thudding of Aggowrath's boots, a torchlight came into view, and the body of the burly Northman came fully into sight, a rag in his hand wiping blood spatters off of his stomach.

"Are you okay, Aggie?" The tiny woman's voice was soft in the dark tunnels, and while Allaria smirked, Kantorakk pretended to not notice her eyes roving over his friend's body, looking for injury. He decided he would have to mention her attraction to his friend- especially with that damned Assassin roaming the wilds, gunning for him. If she succeeded, he knew Aggowrath would need someone to keep him in check, instead of letting him go after the killer.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Little red bastards bleed too damn much." He looked at Kantorakk. "Before you ask, yes, I wasted time by going back twice. The cave is clear."

"Then I suggest we leave." Aggowrath nodded in agreement, and the four made their way back to the entrance of the cave. It took about a hour for them to make their way back to camp, and in their fatigue, the others did not notice Kantorakk's almost imperceptible edginess. His eyes gleamed in the fading sunlight. Oh, she was very good. Very good indeed, to avoid setting him off right as they left the cave. She must have followed their trail to the entrance, and counted on their having to return at dark for supplies. She had even managed to conceal herself from him for a while- his inattentiveness working to her clear advantage. He smirked. Yes, she was very good, possibly the best one so far. Unfortunately for her, he had done this dance thrice before- and the irritating woman who forced him to flee his homeland had always attested that he was a good dancer. It was one of the few things, he mused, that she was _ever_ honest with him about. Jarring himself from _that_ particular line of thought, he turned around, and surveyed the night around him. It was times like these that he enjoyed most, the stillness that came with darkness, the fear that most creatures of daylight had that kept them from moving or drawing attention to themselves in the dark.

He almost smiled. There she was, hiding behind a fallen tree next to three that had grown together, the dark leather of her attire allowing the slightest glint of moonlight to reflect off of the knives she had strapped to her person. He nearly grinned- he knew it was dangerous to bait an Assassin, and the glare from those steel blue eyes told him without words how angry she was that he had managed to detect her. His vision was far better at night than it was by day, and it was times like this that made him appreciative of his family's genetic quirk. He decided, against his better judgment, to help her improve for their inevitable conflict. Withdrawing a Kris, a giant wavy dagger, from it's sheath along his back, he twirled it in his hand. Good, she was watching him closely- waiting for him to cut his wrist and use the blood to power a hell-spawned spell, perhaps? Well, he had never been afraid to disappoint before. He stopped twirling the blade in his hand, and made sharp gestures of tapping his back. When he saw her eyes narrow, he smirked. At least she got the message. Taking out a used scroll of identify, he wrote quickly, scratching letters into the parchment, one wary eye never leaving hers.

Satisfied with his message, he rolled up the parchment, and dropped it to the ground. With a respectful nod, he summoned a clay Golem to watch her with, then took a dozen steps backward before turning and making quickly for the encampment. The game had just elevated a notch, and he would need rest. First things first, though: he needed a drink.

She was too close, and that had to be what gave her away.

She had followed their trail to the cave that radiated evil earlier, after having evaded the Barbarian when he approached her hiding place. She knew it was the damn Necromancer's fault; the witch was not strong enough to detect her. She had been furious; she hated guessing. It had taken her a few minutes to recap all that she knew and put it to good use. She had remembered that they never carried more than two day's rations, usually only one, so they would have to head back before nightfall. Even if they stayed longer, they would still have to return before too long, and they would have to head back the way they came for the sake of safety.

That though had led her to find a hide with a clear view of the surrounding area that allowed her to keep an eye on the entrance at all times. She had made the right choice; as night began to fall, the group had left the mouth of the cave. She had taken in their appearance: They all looked tired, but still not enough for her to feel safe. When she saw that the Necromancer was relatively unscathed, she had abandoned all thoughts of closer surveillance. She had been following them for about half an hour before the Necromancer stopped and let the others get farther ahead. That worried her; as far as she was concerned, he was the most dangerous of them all.

_Oh, Damn it all! Damn it all to the burning hells!_ He was looking right at her once again, green eyes glinting in the moonlight, stance anything but tired. She fleetingly thought of rushing him, but with the ease with which he spotted her, she knew he could see at night. That, and she was too far away to get the jump on him or hide, and one _never_ fought a mage at a distance, _especially_ over open ground- so no, combat was out. She glared daggers at him, wishing she knew how in the hell he managed to spot her so damn fast. She watched attentively as he withdrew a large Kris from within his cloak. She fought the urge to wince and won; she had been stabbed with one in a bar brawl, and it was noticeably more painful than any other knife that she'd ever been cut with. He started to play with the blade, swinging it in intricate patterns, the blade flashing in the moonlight, his body never moving as the blade picked up speed until it was a blur. So. He knew how to use a knife. No big scare there. The blade stopped, and she watched closely. He made a point of tapping his back repeatedly for a few seconds. In a few seconds, it clicked.

_Her knives! They must have reflected in the moonlight! So that's how he found her!_ Her eyes narrowed at the revelation, and she saw him stop. He brought out a parchment, and began to scratch something into it, his eyes never parting from her for a second. She fought the urge to grin- at least he knew enough to respect her. Seeming to finish with what he was writing, he rolled up the parchment, and dropped it. He then took some steps backwards, putting distance between them as he raised a Golem from the ground. She tensed, and then he turned around and was gone- she couldn't see him, even though she had seen him turn around. She swore under her breath. She was debating whether or not to fight the thing, or grab the message obviously meant for her. She really liked the idea of screwing the whole thing and leaving, but before she could decide, the Golem crumpled to the ground.

It took a second before the reality sank in and she became incensed. Not at the diversion for an escape, no, that was a good idea- _and she was rookie enough to fall for it! Dammit! _She decided to get the damn message before she left. She strode with a purpose in the dark, finding the parchment easily. She pocketed it for now; she would read it in daylight, later. For now, she had to make her way back to camp to keep an eye on the Barbarian.

She took off into the night, fuming.

"So, why did ya fall behind?" Aggowrath took another swig of ale and tore a chunk out of the hock of meat that looked tiny in his massive paws. Allaria and Amarien looked to him expectantly. Kantorakk brought the tankard up to his chin, and responded in his quiet way before he took a swallow.

"I felt like staring down the Assassin that was following us." Aggowrath's head jerked to look at him with a frown and Amarien nearly choked on her dinner. Then, she said in a weak and timid voice,

"She was f-following us?" Allaria gave her a squeeze on her shoulder for support, while looking grimfaced at the Pale One. He nodded.

"She was twenty feet behind us from the moment we left the cave."

"Then why didn't she attack?" Allaria was dead serious.

"Assassins have a strict protocol. No witnesses, get the target alone with no chance for help, attack from above, et cetera, et cetera." Aggowrath was the only one who picked up on the dry humor of his friend- though he didn't laugh.

"Whatcha ganna do?" he asked as Kantorakk got up from his seat and stretched.

"Keep both eyes open." With that, he turned and left the warmth of the fireside and headed for the tent he now shared with Aggowrath. The three remaining adventurers sat in a comfortable silence, eating dinner. With Kantorakk gone, Aggowrath reached forward and took his share of the meat. Allaria speared Amarien with a meaningful glance, then rose and headed for their tent, bidding the two good night. As Aggowrath stared into the fire, Amarien decided to take advantage of their time without Allaria to insinuate anything or Kantorakk to unnerve her.

"Aggie?" Her voice was too timid even for her tastes, and she inwardly winced at it- though it got the big man's attention. He turned to look at her and smiled.

"Yeah?" She gathered her courage, now that she had started it, she needed to finish it. When she hesitated, his interest grew- he even put down the meat. "What is it, little one? Did Gheed give you trouble again?" His voice took an edge at this, and she smiled to calm him as she shook her head. He had never liked how the shifty merchant acted around her, and she thought it was somewhat cute how protective he was of her.

"Promise you won't be mad if I ask you something?" His shoulders slumped slightly- here it came. He knew she wouldn't let it rest; women _always_ had to know _everything_, even when it didn't have anything to do with them. He looked back to the fire.

"Go ahead." This wasn't the response she had hoped for, but she went ahead anyway; after all, he wasn't angry, and he probably knew it was coming.

"Why won't you tell me what happened with your home? I can understand not telling the others, but why not me?" He sighed heavily and got up, his appetite gone.

"One: Kan does know, but he acts like he doesn't. Two: I can't. I took an oath. 'Night, little one." With that, he made for his tent. Amarien was disheartened by his reaction, but at least he didn't get mad. She went from melancholy to furious the moment she looked up and saw that. . . _slut_ Amplissa trying to get him to laugh. He said something brief to her, and made his way to her tent. She was made even angrier by the way the Rogue followed him with her eyes. A wicked thought formed in her head, and she smiled to herself. She rose quickly, and set out- she needed to talk to Allaria.

The tiny Sorceress rose and quickly stalked off into the night, but she didn't care. She was still fuming as she watched the Barbarian make his way into a large tent in the corner of the camp. Her mind burned as she watched the camp settle down for the night. The parchment in her pocket seemed to burn her hip; she wanted to know what had been written. A threat? A challenge? A taunt? The Necromancer was intriguing, she would admit. She hoped she wouldn't have to kill him. The ease with which he thwarted her attempts to follow the Barbarian had unnerved her. When she had been in training, she had of course been schooled in what to do if you were discovered before you could strike. The problem was, they never covered what to do if it _was the same person time and time again! _She knew being found out was the mark of a poor Assassin, but she had always been taught to know when her target was more than she could handle. True, he wasn't her target, but why did he keep stopping her from watching the Northman?

That is what was truly bothering her. What if he was evil- a possibility- and was planning on using the Barbarian to find the Druid? What if he was evil and was simply in need of a group? Or what if this had nothing to do with the Barbarian, but the little Sorceress? There were too many possibilities, and she didn't have enough intelligence on the group. The parchment became a heavy weight in her pocket. She eyed the camp; it seemed that everyone had retired for the night. She watched the Caravan master as he peacefully smoked his pipe by his wagon. She had to risk it; perhaps she could read the note, too.

She made her way down from her perch on the palisades and moved around to the front of the camp, walking in without being stopped by the Rogues on guard. She made her way to the campfire. Without any rush or seeming interest, she withdrew the parchment and opened it, tilting it so she could see the lines in the dark.

_Greetings, Assassin. _

_I commend your tracking abilities. I hope your blade work is up to par with them, for you will need them dearly to take me on. I know your creed, and so I will not question why your masters have decided to waste a fourth agent upon me, nor will I plead for my life. I promise you an interesting hunt, Assassin. Your skill speaks for itself, but know this: while I respect you, I do not respect those who underestimate me. If you continue to behave in such an unprofessional manner in regards to ending my life, then you will find that my respect for you will quickly diminish. I trust that your code is well, and has not changed in regards to innocents? When you strike, make it count, Huntress, for I will strike back. I promise you a challenge._

_ On another note, perhaps you should use pitch on your blades?_

_ Respectfully,_

_ Kantorakk, Priest of Rathma,_

_ 2nd City_

She didn't know whether to be flattered, relieved, or angered. It was a threat, a compliment, and a challenge rolled into one. On the other hand, it gave her a valuable insight into her enemy. No, her opponent. He thought she was after him- arrogant, perhaps, but not too egotistical, if he was anywhere as powerful as she thought. She re-read the message. The code, huh? Assassin's were not permitted to harm innocents unless they posed a threat to eliminating the mark. A point in his favor, then; it was a careful remark that was perfectly clear when combined with the rest of the note: _leave my companions out of this, and I will play by the rules._ She considered that carefully- if she could draw him out, then she could clear things up, and wouldn't be in danger of being attacked later on. Perhaps she could even get them to help her track down the bastard Druid that had managed to give her the slip. She grimaced as the thought occurred to her. She didn't want help, and she didn't _really _need it. . . She shook herself of the thought. No, she needed help; the trail had gone cold. She felt a tingling along her neck, like she always did when someone was watching her. She looked up to see the merchant Warriv approaching her, sitting across from her at the fire. He nodded politely.

"Good evening." She smiled at him- merchants always knew useful things about their venues. "My name is Warriv, and I run the merchant Caravan that will be passing through here if the way East ever opens up again. What is your name?"

"You can call me Rachel." Her alias came from her lips easily. "I was wondering, I saw a group of people out in the wilderness earlier today. Do you know who they are?"

"A petite girl in green, a tall blonde in armor, a giant half-naked Northman and a scary man in black?" She pretended to look shocked and he chuckled. "Yes, I know them." She scooted forward and made sure her eyes were bright and attentive.

"Could you tell me about them?" He smiled.

"Sure. Amarien is the tiny one, but if you call her that, she gets very angry. She's a Sorceress, and a fairly powerful one from what Akara tells me. Nice girl, very sweet, very kind-hearted." While Warriv's tone was appreciative, like it would be over a favorite daughter, she decided that she wouldn't get along with the girl if they ever met. Warriv continued. "The big Barbarian is called Aggowrath, and he's from the. . .Bear clan, I think. He talks to his mace, so I'm fairly certain that's the one. Anyway, he's friends with the two girls, and he's Amarien's favorite, if you get my meaning. He doesn't seem to realize it, though. Nice enough guy, but he has a mean temper, and I'd never want to make him mad. He's friends with Allaria too." He thought for a moment and puffed on his pipe, and she quickly concluded that he was like every other Barbarian she'd ever met . "Allaria, she's the blond, is an Amazon. Real beauty, but she has a bit of a temper. Somewhat mean, but she has her heart in the right place. She and Amarien are very close." He laughed briefly and she thought this sounded more like her kind of person . "She doesn't get along with the Necromancer, though."

Her eyes went wide with perceived shock, and her interest peaked. He must have thought it was fear, and so she played the illusion.

"A Necromancer? Aren't they supposed to be evil?" She put fear into her voice, and was satisfied that he bought it. He smiled warmly at her, and shook his head.

"From what I've seen, no, Necromancers aren't evil. This one, though, he's in a league of his own." She wasn't about to leave with only that to go on; not the biggest threat she faced. Trying to sound awed, she tried to keep him going.

"What do you mean by that?" Success!

"Well, from what I can tell, Kantorakk is a tad bit more. . . antisocial than most. He keeps his hair short, for one, and he hasn't bleached his hair white, like the rest. He saved this very encampment when demons tried to overrun it a week or so ago."

"What?" Her surprise was genuine this time. Warriv nodded.

"That's right. He showed up because the Barbarian sent for him, and helped to fight off the horde once we thought we were beaten. He didn't even get angry when Kashya refused to say thank you, or when the Rogues were hostile to him. He just didn't seem to care. He was wounded badly in the leg, but no one knew until he walked out of Akara's tent with a bandage on his leg. Personally, I don't think the man knows fear." She laughed.

"You can't be serious!" He shook his head, and looked at her knowingly.

"Would you, unarmed, stand toe to toe with an enraged Barbarian without batting an eye?' She thought for a second before shaking her head.

"That just means he's stupid, not brave or without fear." Warriv smiled at her.

"Didn't you notice how there were almost no demons around the Moor?" She nodded. "He managed to systematically remove them all in a matter of days, and from what I've heard, he and the other three are going to try and clear out the Rogue Monastery." He looked over to his caravan, and rose. "If you will excuse me for a moment, Rachel?" She nodded and ignored him as he went to his wagon. Her fears were assuaged. Now all she had to do was decide how to handle the Necromancer. She heard a familiar grumbling, and her stomach lurched as she turned her head and saw Kantorakk talking quietly to Warriv as the small man handed him a flask in exchange for some coins. Before she could leave, green eyes met blue, and both sets narrowed. She was in the open, in plain view, and almost unarmed. His eyes bore into her, and she could see him tense. Before Warriv could turn around, she bolted for the palisade wall, and dashed into the night. She did not stop until she was sure that she was not being pursued.

While Warriv was surprised to turn and find the pretty redhead gone, the look on Kantorakk's face told him that he had missed something important. Now he was worried, for he knew the Necromancer didn't like showing outward emotion.

"What's wrong, Kantorakk?" Angry green eyes bore into him.

"She is a mage killer, my friend." With that, he ran to the women's tent, as Warriv tried to grasp how such a pretty face could belong to a killer, let alone worry the Necromancer who knew no fear...


	4. Recovery

_Many thanks to _oscar101, Silverscale, Death Korps, Lai Tasha, David 'Zhang', Grand Duke Tickles, The Clang, and nodikus for their reviews. I apologize for the long wait, but computer crashes, first year of college, a romantic entanglement that would inspire Shakespeare to re-evaluate his definition of "tragic", subsequent romantic recovery of another nature, and a job even the Devil himself would cringe at, have all been a detriment to my writing process. And to those who read and leave no reviews- YOU MAKE ME SAD! FIE FOR SHAME! SHAME, SHAME, SHAME! MOOCHERS, ALL OF YOU!!!

And now, the reason you clicked the damn link in the first place……

"Look out!" Aggowrath ducked as a flaming arrow flew where his exposed neck had been seconds before and parried a blow from the skeleton before swinging his mace into its face, shattering the bone with almost no effort. He saw Allaria Fending off 4 skeletons and 3 zombies at once, Amarien struggling to crawl to the pack that contained the group healing potions. On his other side, he could hear Kan's skeletons killing others and dying off at an alarming rate, only for Kan to raise more while trading blows with 4 undead rogues while Blood Raven took potshots at him. He saw her line up another shot at Amarien, this one glowing with a yellow pulse. Before it launched he shouted a warning and picked up the nearest skeleton by the hand and hilt and threw himself and his undead shield in the way.

The explosion threw him back a good ten feet at least, and he was still feeling dizzy as he got to his feet. He felt horror when he saw Allaria with a giant blade sticking from her abdomen, and relief when she broke it off with her spear, a splinter of it remaining in her armor. Kan looked a little worse off though; the shrapnel in his leg would make it hard to run, especially in that damn armor he always insisted on wearing. But Aggowrath didn't have time for more thoughts before another 6 skeletons were on him, a wall of zombies coming ever closer behind them. He started swinging, giving in to the song of his ancestors, of battle, and blood. Time and again, he rose his arm had brought down the mace, crushing one enemy after another, just like his first days of battle in the steppes of his homeland. Time and again he crushed them beneath the steel of his mace, his arm burning with exertion and concern mounting in his chest; Amarien had made it to the pack, but had not rejoined the fight. That was bad. Kan's magic was starting to have a harder time keeping up. That was _really_ bad. The endless army of undead could keep coming; they would tire. He knew Kan would think up something; he always did. Aggowrath steeled himself and went on the offensive; crashing through his enemies and making the perimeter the band had made smaller, running through the graveyard, killing indiscriminately. If Kan needed time to think, then by god, Aggowrath would do his best to give it to him.

He had been halfway to Blood Raven when he heard Kan cry to him, and he returned to their small perimeter, his distraction successful. Kan had made more skeletons and another golem who were on the offensive and had taken the pressure off of the adventurers. When Kan opened his mouth to speak, a yellow, pulsing arrow shot between them and struck the small shack behind the group, and the floor gave way.

Aggowrath woke up a few seconds later to Amarien screaming, her leg damaged and looking terrible as a skeleton came up to try and crush her with the lid of the sarcophagus she had landed in. Aggowrath leapt up and knocked its upper half across the hall and jerked her out of the sarcophagus, ignoring the searing pain in his leg. He turned and saw Kan pulling Allaria from another pile of rubble as his skeletons fought off undead rogues, blood pouring along the lines of his bone-like Cuirass.

"We're in deep shit this time, Kan." He propped up Amarien and helped drag the unconscious Amazon into cover.

"Duly…" Kan hacked up a giant gout of blood, his lips turning crimson as he spat off to the side and summoned a fire golem. "Noted. Find the pack, Agg. There should be a scroll of Town Portal in there somewhere. I think it's in the other room, but my mobility is…." Another hack of blood, and coughing this time. "Limited." Aggowrath took off immediately, smashing anything that came close, not caring if were possibly a friend. It took him ten minutes to find the pack, having gone down a 20 foot corridor, the floor slippery underneath him. He heard Amarien scream as he found the pack, and ran back up the corridor. Ignoring the burning, ignoring the pain and the tearing, and entered into a horrific scene.

Undead Rogues, Zombies, and skeletons clamored over the rubble where Amarien cast fireballs at anything that came close, Allaria unconscious still. Skeletons surrounded the two on defense, hacking away at anything within reach, blatantly blocking rogue arrows with their bony frames. And 15 feet off to the left side of the room, there was Kantorakk.

T he man was covered in blood, standing atop a pile of rubble and corpses, his golem wrecking havoc on the rogues. Looking farther up the sloped hole in the ceiling, Aggowrath could see Blood Raven descending leisurely to their level, her minions flooding the room from above. Aggowrath hacked his way to the women and the skeletons made by his friend, before the realization hit him.

Kantorakk was cut off, and there was no time left.

He threw the scroll into Amarien's lap and turned to see Kantorakk hacking at the rogues, his face as blank as ever, the mask of death. His golem fought behind him, but the wall of skeletons and rogues kept closing in. As he heard the portal open, Aggowrath knew he had to make a choice in this dusty, moldy hell. Help Amarien and Allaria through and into safety, and leave Kantorakk to his fate.

Or fight with Kantorakk, and kill them all. He paused. Two women he had promised to help and protect, versus his blood brother. He blinked, and took a second he did not have.

He took a step towards Kantorakk, but was stopped by those same green eyes that always knew what he was going to do before he did.

His brother shouted over the noise, raising his voice one of the few times Aggowrath could ever recall in his life.

"You come after me, and they join Derrik!" He then turned and fled into another room, his golem following as more than a dozen rogues ran after him. Aggowrath heard the portal flare behind him as the skeletons guarding them started to die.

Bowing his head to hide the threatening tears, Aggowrath turned around, picked up both women, and leapt through the open portal, letting close behind him as Blood Raven crowed.

A spear of bone flew from his fingertips into the dark night surrounding him, his eyes using the faint moonlight to aim at the shadowy figure rushing towards him. Another spear and a curse left his lips as his Kris came up to block the blade going for his throat. His left arm moved away from his body, taking the second offending blade with it, and he kicked out at his attacker. The figure flipped off its hands and came in for another attack, one knife finding its way through his defense and striking the bone, plunging deep into his chest as he fell backwards. He heard the silky smooth voice of his attacker in the dark, the hesitation- part wanting him dead and mutilated beyond reason, the other wishing to take the potions in his damaged pack 20 feet away and allow him to heal himself. Then the other attacker made their presence known, and all was red and pain and thunder and searing, blinding agony as he cast a final spell……

He awoke and lay still, sweat pooling along his back and onto the ground. He forced himself to breathe at the same rate he had been in sleep; all was quiet. His chest burned with every breath, and though Akara had assured him the pain would pass within days, he felt sure it would be more akin to weeks. He felt a chill, and sat up, ignoring the pain the flared throughout his torso and dressed. After arming himself, he looked for his flask and swore violently when he found the hole in it. Pulling his cowl up, he left the relative warmth of the tent.

Warriv was by the fire in the coming twilight, and nodded in greeting as Kantorakk made himself comfortable on one of the logs.

"Good morning, Kantorakk. I am glad to see you up and about. How is your injury?"

"Fine." The tradesman smiled despite the terse answer. As Warriv took in the sight of the man sitting before him, he was reminded of just how good a trade he had. Kantorakk's head was red, the blood scabbed over, the entire left side of his head a red mask, despite the cleaning Akara had done earlier. His leg was bandaged, and even now, a few drops of blood periodically dripped from between the metal. Warriv knew that the man's chest had been practically ripped apart, but the cuirass hid any damage or treatment that had been done. The necromancer's breathing was even and unlabored; it sounded a little wet, though.

"What happened, friend? You and your companions have not been in that bad a state since the camp was attacked."

"Blood Raven." The word struck a brief chord of fear in the Caravan Master before he could react, his eyes going wide.

"So the rumors that I have been hearing are true, and Blood Raven has been killed?" A grunt was the only response from the Necromancer as he absentmindedly turned the flask over in his hands. He looked up as Warriv offered him another, from which he drew a long gulp. It was quiet in the pre-dawn camp; the guards were waiting for their chance to sleep, and others remained so, save the occasional cook and Gheed, who was always paranoid about theft. Kantorakk snorted derisively at the mere thought of it. What good did it do to have so much wealth if your entire life-time, energy, purpose- was spent accumulating wealth when death would not allow you to take it with you? It was idiocy of the highest order, and Kantorakk was very pleased that the greedy little cheat had an irrational fear of him. He offered the flask back to Warriv, who shook his head. "You bought one and it broke not even a week later. Consider it a replacement." Kantorakk nodded and placed the flask within his cloak.

"Thank you." He pulled out his right Kris and a whetstone and began to sharpen the blade as quietly as possible, making sure to put all of his strength into it to ensure maximum effectiveness. Warriv watched him silently for several minutes, as if waiting for him to comment at being watched. But no words escaped the lips of the Death-mage. Several Rogues walked by to see what the noise was, but stopped when they saw from whence the noises came, giving the two men a wide berth. Warriv was well known by all the Rogues within the camp, and was considered a friend to all. While the Necromancer was certainly worthy of respect and a relative amount of trust, he was by no means considered friendly, even by those with whom he fought alongside regularly. Granted, he seemed more comfortable around the Barbarian more than anyone else, but then again, most in the camp considered the big Northman to be crazy in his own right. After an hour or so, with the sun beginning to rise through the morning fog that had settled on the area, Warriv again tried to engage the sullen man.

"Those look very unwieldy for a dagger. Painful and a bit cruel, yes, but more unwieldy than anything else." The whetstone never paused in its motion as it moved down the blade over….and over….and over……..the man's gaze never leaving his work.

"Perhaps." Warriv waited for the other man to say more, but nothing came. He frowned.

"I meant no offence, Kantorakk. I was merely curious as to what would lead a spell-caster who has no place in melee combat to use a weapon that does not seem…… ideal for a ranged combatant." The path of the whetstone continued unabated-Down one side. Then the other. Down the first side again. Then the second. Once more the first side. The second again. Never any faster nor slower than the time before, no movement save the arms, hands, and the occasional blink.

"None taken." The trader nearly fell off of the log as Aggowrath thumped him on the shoulder in greeting and took a seat on the log next to Kantorakk, a large tankard of ale in his right hand and a second tankard and haunch of meat in the other.

"Mawhnin." Warriv gave the large man an odd look through what he assumed was a 'good morning' behind the mouthful of meat.

"Excuse me, Barbarian, but isn't it a little early to be drinking alcohol and eating red meat?" The barbarian chuckled as he swallowed, which further perplexed the trader.

"Of course not, Warriv! Food is food, and I need meat to help me heal. Besides, the ale helps me forget I have giant holes in my face."

"Bullshit." The two looked at the Necromancer, who was busy eying his handiwork with a keen eye, and seemingly extreme disinterest in his surroundings.

"And just what in the seven hells is THAT supposed to mean?" Aggowrath asked before taking another swig of ale.

"It means you're a drunken pig." Warriv's eyes became wide at the casual delivery of an insult to the easily angered Barbarian, and unobtrusively moved an inch or two further from the men in case of violence. Aggowrath took on a dour look and leaned closer to his companion.

"That may be, asshole, but let's not forget what I can do with a mace!" He took another large bite from the haunch and then downed it with a large, and somewhat noisy, gulp of ale. Kantorakk did not look as he placed the blade back into its sheath.

"Even pigs have their uses." Aggowrath finished downing his tankard of ale, bringing his head back down, and reached for another one he had placed by his feet, only to see that Kantorakk had taken it with him when he left the log, downing it in a single drink. Though Kantorakk couldn't see it, he certainly _felt_ the death glare his friend sent him as he made his way to Akara's tent. Aggowrath rose and stretched, then left the log to fetch himself another tankard of ale. At the back of the wagon, he paused for a moment, and then took another two, deciding to forgo the fourth ale of the morning like he normally did. He was in the middle of enjoying the third ale when Amarien limped out to the log and sat down next to him, looking as tired as she did damaged. Even her voice had lost its enthusiasm.

"Morning, Aggie." Slowly, with a great deal of lethargy evident, she reached over and took a swig form his ale, wrinkling her nose in distaste and fighting down a gag; Aggowrath was concerned for a moment that she might vomit. But she held it down, and leaned against him, exhausted. Confused, the big man didn't even move.

"Uh….Mornin', Amarien. Are you sure you should be up? You look like you're about to collapse." She didn't move.

"No. Everything hurts, Aggie. Everything." She shivered, and the Northman put his arm around her and set down his tankard. Then he moved the log closer to the fire, before picking up his tankard.

"Thanks, Aggie."

"Mhhmm." Aggowrath felt a surge of pity for the young lady. Her left leg had been badly damaged in the fight with Blood Raven, and it had taken everything Allaria and he had to keep the horde of skeletons and zombies from mutilating the downed Sorceress. It hadn't helped, of course, when the floor gave way under them and dropped them four stories into the mausoleum. Aggowrath knew that they wouldn't have made it out if Kantorakk didn't expect every mission to fail. He looked down at Amarien, obviously feeling every bruise and cut. The poor little thing had landed in a stone sarcophagus, and spiders had crawled out all over her. She had screamed, panicked, flailed, and then screamed even more when a skeleton had tried to crush her with the lid of the sarcophagus. He looked up and nodded in greeting to Allaria, who took a seat across form the two on another log. Her exhaustion was visible in her stance- that, and how she saw the big man with his arm around Amarien, and said nothing.

There they were. "Rachel" looked over at the trio around the fire, and debated what to do. She knew that none of them had ever seen her, and so she could play it safe and listen in on their conversation. Her mission had already been a success; she could now afford to take risks. After all, intelligence was intelligence. It wouldn't hurt to know more about the people she would be tailing, and possibly working with. Storing that possibility in the back of her mind for later, she moved in a large circle through the camp, slowly working her way closer to the warriors at the fire.

Allaria looked at the Barbarian as she swiped her hands together to remove the breadcrumbs.

"How're the wounds?" Aggowrath put his left hand up to the scars on his face where Blood Raven's arrows had stuck for more than two days before Akara had managed to remove them.

"Fine. Nothing I haven't had to deal with before. 'Tween us though, her magic didn't help too much. I got my sight back through one of Kan's drinks. We just decided to give Akara the credit. Y'know, avoid hurt feelin's 'n such?" Allaria nodded. Regrettably, the more she fought with and alongside the Necromancer, the less and less surprised she was becoming at the variety of tricks and talents at his disposal. As she thought about it though, it made sense; a life of people and things hating you and wanting you dead would require a certain sense of ingenuity. Aggowrath interrupted her train of thought. "How're yours doin'?"

"They hurt." She had been cut badly in the right thigh and shoulder, and her shield arm was broken. Fortunately, Akara HAD been able to fix that. And put her ear back on. And cure the poison. And get her hand to re-grow a ring finger- though the very process had made her ill. "Amarien, if you don't go back to bed you'll just hurt yourself more."

"Mrrf." The Amazon and Northman shared a look. "Come on, girl. I'll take you back to the tent."

"Not yet. I have . . . a question, Aggie. Why did Kantorakk have to tell you that Allaria and I would join Derrik to get you to leave him behind?" The silence that followed the question was more significant than a thousand battle cries as the man froze, and Allaria wondered if this was Amarien's intention in the first place, wandering out of bed where she belonged. Before the man could talk or Allaria could argue, Amarien clinched the deal. "If . . . I go back to bed, you have to tell Allaria and me when we get there. Otherwise…..I stay out here." There was a pause, and Aggowrath picked the slight woman up in his arms and carried her off with Allaria in tow, a blank look on his face and his mind miles away. . . .

"You _do_ realize that there are limitations to what my magic can heal, correct?"

"Yes." Kantorakk pulled his flask from his pocket and took a quick swig before returning it to rest. There was little light in Akara's tent, and he resisted the urge to move on the small stool easily. Bundles of ingredients, potions, cloth, scrolls, and even a statue of a rogue were lined around the wall of the tent; a slight crease in a fold indicated where the flap lifted up into a sleeping room or some such. Kantorakk sat with his leg stretched out fully; his wound from the first battle had been reopened more than was advisable, and the pain had become a regular companion. His focus returned to Akara when she waved her hand, indicating his flask.

"You also know that liquor will shorten your life? And impede your recovery and overall health?" He restrained a frown easily; he had come for a diagnosis, not a lecture.

"I am well aware of the adverse affects my habit has on my overall health and performance, life expectancy included. Now please get to the point, Akara. When will I stop breathing blood?" She sighed and turned back to her scrolls; he merely waited.

"The fact that I managed to conjure up a lung out of nothing seems to have been lost on you, Necromancer. Such a feat is by no means simple or easy, and is very taxing on all involved. The second lung should be healing nicely, but the weakened state you are in, compounded by your drinking, mean that the hemorrhaging in your left lung will take up to three times as long to heal. If you insist on acting as if nothing is wrong with you, you will quickly cause yourself permanent harm." He merely watched her, and when she turned around, she could not hide the exasperation in her voice. "In short, you will stop breathing blood when you finally lay down to rest for a lengthy period of time. Until you do, you will continue to bleed with every breath. And I feel I should add that you are far more likely to drown in your sleep then you ever were before."

Kantorakk made no move or gesture as Akara turned around to the small fire she had started in the corner of the tent and made her guest and herself some tea. The two sat in silence while the water boiled and the tea mixed in, and let the silence stay as Akara placed the drinks on a small table she pulled out from her own room. They drank slowly, appreciating the warmth of the drink in the cold morning. After about 30 minutes, Kantorakk set his cup down on the table and searched around in his robes, producing a bloodstained cloth, which he set on the table before Akara. She eyed the item but made no move to pick it up; she did, however, spare a questioning glance to her guest. He simply rose and turned to leave. At the entrance, he turned his head to the side and spoke.

"I assumed you would want it back." And he was gone.

With unsteady hands, the High Priestess set down her cup and reached for the bloody cloth on the table. Opening the folds, she found a bloodstained amulet. A heart shaped ruby set within the center of a golden raven, wings outstretched proudly, resting atop the symbol of the Sisters of the Sightless Eye. Akara was immediately grateful to the Necromancer for leaving her alone.

She made no noise as she cried.

The tent the two ladies shared made it plainly clear which side belonged to whom. Both sides had a cot, an armor stand, and a small writing table. The right, however, had a standing metal case from which the hafts of javelins stuck out proudly, ready to be used at a moment's notice; the writing table was covered in polish and fragments of whetstones. The left side contained several packs, scrolls of all sorts poking out at odd angles from within the confines of the bags. Aggowrath set the little spell caster down on her cot and stepped aside to allow Allaria to take a seat on her own, seemingly disinterested on what was going on around her. Amarien looked nearly dead from exhaustion, but her gaze did not waver from the man before her, content to wait for him to decide how to tell his tale. He widened his stance and crossed his arms, and looked down at his boots. He sniffed and cleared his throat quietly.

"Derrik was this Paladin who me and Kan kept running into when we were trying to clean out my homeland. Guess he figured we were trying to raise the dead or rob'm or somethin' like that, so he and a few of his paladin friends decided to set up an ambush for us. There were 15 of them and just me and Kan. Well, we beat the shit out of'm and Kan told'm the next time they tried anything, they better kill him 'cause he would kill all but one of'm as a lesson. Well, sure 'nough, they tried again, and this was when we were in a narrow pass where we couldn't really move around any. Well, in the middle of the fight, these undead swept in and started attacking everybody. Me, Kan, Derrik, and 6 other Paladins managed to fight'm off, and then followed'm back to this village we were headin' to. Some demon thing had killed off the entire village and turned'm into undead. Well, I got pissed and went on in, and the paladins followed right behind me. Simply put, Kan saved me and Derrik from getting killed, and then we dragged Derrik back to my tribe to answer for trespassing. Politics aside, we figured it out, and so Derrik worked with us for a couple of months. Well, about 2 years into it and we were all what you could call friends, and we went to this city- hell if I can remember the name- to try and catch this renegade paladin. Well, I got hooked on opium after I couldn't get any hookers, and then the guy we were after shows up and tries to kill me. I was stoned out of my mind, but when I came around, I found out that Derrik had tried to protect me, and been killed doin' it. After that, Kan straightened me out, and I stopped doing opium." Allaria spoke up.

"How did he get you to quit?"

"He beat the mother-loving shit out of me." Amarien's eyes grew a little larger.

"Right there in the place where the fighting was?"

"No, he dragged me into the center of town in the marketplace and let me have it. The guards were too scared of'm to try and stop him." Aggowrath looked up, his face completely blank. "And that's how I got a friend killed. Now I need a nap." And with that, the Northman turned and left the tent, leaving the two women to themselves. Allaria looked over to her friend, and laughed. The girl was fast asleep. She lay back on her cot and quickly followed suit.

She turned around and quickly walked away from the tent, piecing together the information she had obtained. Something about it struck her in an odd way, however. Kan. Kantorakk. An obvious abbreviation, showing close familiarity. That would help to further explain why the two men were always near one another. She tailed the Barbarian back to his tent on the other side of the camp. He paused to buy a flask from Warriv, walked right by an admiring rogue without a second glance, and ventured unhurriedly into a large tent with a giant two handed sword buried in the ground before it, Fallen skulls hanging from the hilt.

She was very careful as she walked to the rear of the tent and listened for activity within. After ten minutes, she heard the man crawl into something, and then start to sleep, from the sounds of his breathing. Deciding that she was pushing the matter too closely, she stood up from her hiding place behind the tenet and turned around to leave.

And found herself face to face with two very angry, very mean, and very, very green eyes.

Shit.

Well, that's what I have for you after an unworthy amount of waiting. Hopefully I'll be able to put out more of it on a regular basis. Again, reviews, criticisms, requests- anything short of death threats are welcome.


	5. Let's Make A Deal

I apologize fo the long wait, and especially if this damn piece of shit system doesn't include the markings I left to indicate a change in perspective; I can't seem to get the f thing to work. I'll keep trying, though.

I know it may not be the best, but it's taken this long because I'm still not really happy with it. oh well. . .

If it were not for the fact that the bastard had crept up on her, she may have been somewhat charmed.

Her every muscle was tense, her posture ready to flee or put in a quick strike, knowing that he had the drop on her and that she was at a severe disadvantage. She couldn't see his hands, or his legs, hell, she couldn't make out any details except his face and the damn cloak.

Yet he just stood there, angry green eyes boring into her as if the very act rooted her to the spot, and short of the slight rise and fall of his shoulders, he seemingly was made of stone. They remained that way for a few seconds and as her mind raced through the best course of action, his words- surprisingly calm and neutral- interrupted her train of thought.

"I wouldn't wake him, if I were you." Her panicked mind instantly remembered the sleeping Barbarian, and her eyes widened marginally as she realized just what a predicament she found herself in. The necromancer turned and began to walk away, and she had just relaxed her stance a fraction of an inch when he motioned for her to follow. Warily, she decided to cooperate- for now, anyway. She walked behind him, tense, as he slowly walked out of the camp a short ways, the rogues sparing the two odd glances, but not bothering to stop or question them.

When the mage reached the middle of a stone bridge crossing a river not 300 feet from the camp, he stopped and looked out over the water, seemingly unworried by being out on his own with an Assassin at his back. Still on edge, she approached within speaking distance, but came no closer than that, taking care to remain out of striking distance. Impatiently, she decided to get to the point.

"Well?" He merely turned his head to glance at her, his face completely blank, as his left eyebrow gracefully arched itself over his eye, implying, _well what?_ Fighting down a growl, she tried to remain civil. "I guess you want a thank you for helping me last time?" She opened her mouth to tell him just how good his chances were of that, and who owed who, when he cut her off.

"No." She closed her mouth and crossed her arms as he looked back over the water, seemingly disinterested in whatever she had to say.

"Then what in the seven hells do you want?" He did not look at her when he responded tersely.

"You DO realize you were just trying to spy on someone in broad daylight?" Though she said nothing, he could feel her baleful look. He spared her a glance. "I was returning the favor, by the way. You owe me nothing." He was silent for a second, and his gaze focused sharply on the woman. In his mind's eye, he ignored the flash of red suddenly enveloped by darkness and a relief of pressure of a bony hand being removed from his neck. "Now, 'Rachel', I have a query for you. What are you looking for?" She had to force herself to try to respond without sounding defensive.

"What makes you think I'm looking for something?" He turned slightly, fighting the agitated look that nearly crossed his face.

"The fact that you've been hounding me and my companions for weeks and haven't tried to kill anyone or steal anything." Her eyes narrowed and her expression went cold, her voice just as frigid.

"And what concern of it is yours?" The eyes went angry again, and his body stiffened slightly; he continued, and the voice showed no sign of it as he patiently counted off on his fingers.

"You are regularly infiltrating my only safe-haven in a hostile area, your goals are unknown, making you a potential threat on top of the demonic presence in the area, you belong to an order that has free reign to kill spell-casters, which is exactly half of my present company….. I believe those three reasons alone are satisfactory enough, excluding the fact that you have been caught repeatedly trying to follow us, spy on us, et cetera, etc cetera….." Her look turned into a glare as she tapped an impatient finger on the hilt of a Katar. She found herself grinding her teeth, and as she stood there, the man brought a flask from his cloak and took a deep swallow, and from the whiff she caught of it, it was Gahlein-fire spirit- her favorite. At least he knew what counted as good liquor. It didn't keep her from snapping back at him, though. She ignored him when he started choking on the liquor; it wasn't her fault if he couldn't hold it down.

"Well it wasn't as if I could simply walk up and start asking questions now, is it, Necromancer? That little Sorceress is more nervous than a whore in church! And you are so convinced of your own self importance that you automatically assume you're a target, the Barbarian's too dumb or lazy to question you before he starts swinging, and the Amazon is already friends with the little witch! With 4 against 1, that narrows the options a bit, doesn't it?" She stared him straight in the eye, and they simply stood there for a long minute. When he offered the flask, she hesitated, then took it and took a deep pull from it. As she handed it back with a curt nod of thanks the mage nodded in return.

"Very well. I am Kantorakk, priest of Rathma, of the Second city." He cleared his throat.

"Isis, Assassin."

"Well, Isis, what- or whom- is it you seek?"

"A Druid came through this area some time ago. I'm looking for him." Kantorakk's next question was immediate.

"Is he your target?" She glared at him.

"Have you seen him?"

"Not the man, no. Is he your target?"

"Is he a friend of yours?"

"No."

"Ally?"

"No."

"What have you seen?"

"Signs and traces, nothing more."

"Details?"

"Connection to Aggowrath?" Damn the man.

"Druids always draw nearby Barbarians to them. Don't know how or why, but they do."

"One came through here more than a month ago, not long after Aggowrath's arrival. He did not stay more than a night. We found a few houses that showed signs of battle with remains that connected to a druid."

"Like what?"

"How long have you been following this mark?"

"Long enough. What kinds of signs?"

"The kind you're looking for." She gaze him a look that left no doubt as to her lack of amusement.

"Six months." His eyes seemed to get brighter- she thought.

"Bullshit." She ground her teeth even harder.

"No, it has been six months." The man leaned his back against the side of the stone bridge and crossed his arms.

"So you lost him." She made no move, but from the wave of heat she felt, she assumed it showed. She lowered her voice and made it sound very calm.

"You are either very foolish or very dumb to make such a remark to an Assassin, Necromancer."

"Or very right." He made no move, and she forced herself to unclench her jaw before she bit her tongue. She decided to shake up the control of the conversation. She sighed.

"Look, Kantorakk. The Druid has been seen moving across the western lands, and every time, he has left just before the town he's in is destroyed. Plague, demons, strange diseases- all of them left in his wake. And it's not just civilization that's affected. Even forests have been affected- diseased trees, misshapen wildlife, water as black and thick as oil- plain evil. . . ."

"So you decided to follow Aggowrath until he ran into the druid again."

"Yes."

"Knowing full well it might take quite a while, further hindered by failing to work with the people you're spying on." Her glare returned.

"Assassins work best alone." He nearly snorted and his body stiffened somewhat.

"As do Necromancers, yet I had enough sense not to let my pride interfere with my objective." She wanted to snap at him, but she didn't know if it was because he was insulting her or because he was right.

"It still doesn't matter, since there's no way the others will help me." She noticed that his eyes took on an odd glean.

"And if I knew a way around that issue?" She thought quickly about what he could stand to gain from her help that she was willing to give.

"Then I would be willing to help the rogues, provided no one gets in my way when we reach my target."

"Provided he is, in fact, evil."

"Of course." Kantorakk stood up straight and stretched his back before turning and walking into the wilderness.

"In that case, we had best be on our way." Perplexed by the situation she found herself in, but having no other immediately available option, Isis followed.

It was late evening by the time Aggowrath joined the ladies by the fire for a late night meal. After helping himself to a hearty potion of soup, the Northman felt much better; why, he could hardly feel the arrow scars.

"When did you two get out of your tent?" Allaria flippantly downed the rest of her soup and let Amarien answer, finally having the strength to function somewhat.

"An hour or so ago. How are you feeling, Aggie?"

"Fine. Haven't seen Kan around anywhere, though. Either of you seen'm?" Amarien shook her head, but all the Amazon gave was a grunt. Deciding that he needed an answer, the man rose from his seat and approached one of the Rogues on guard duty.

"Hey, Amplissa, how long have you been on duty?" The girl gave the big man a roguish grin.

"A few hours. Why do you ask? Looking for some company?" The Northman failed to catch the implication her voice held.

"Nah, I was just wondering if you'd seen Kantorakk leave?"

"Sure. He left a couple of hours ago. Who was the creepy chick with him?" The barbarian's eyes grew sharp and his hand fell unconsciously to the mace at his side.

"Have you ever seen her before?" The rogue was obviously confused by his response.

"Uh, no, I don't think so. . . What's going on?" The man didn't reply as he turned and ran back to his tent, passing two confused women on his way. In seconds, he was running back to the entrance to the camp, his pack thrown on his back and his backup weapon secured.

"Aggie, what's wrong?" Amarien shouted at him as he ran by. He didn't stop as he ran by.

"Kan's with the Assassin! Stay here!" He reached Amplissa again and just managed one terse word. "Where?!" She pointed off in the direction she had last seen the pair, and without another word, the giant of a man had bounded out of the safety of the camp. His concern grew when it only took him 15 minutes to find a trail of corpses. He ran faster.

For perhaps the thousandth time since she left with the suicidal mage, she wondered to herself if she really should go through all the trouble just for some help. Ducking another blow from the jagged blade of a corrupted Rogue, she spun and knocked the thing's head right off with a precise kick. Safe, she took in her surroundings a little more easily.

This floor was just as dark as the others, with barely any light, which would have suited her fine, were it not for the cobwebs, stench of death, bloodstained walls, floors and ceilings, or the way blood seemed to drip from between stones every now and then.

She was aware of the sound of combat in the next room as necromantic skeletons hacked their way through the tower for their _jackass_ master. That was the other thing that made her uncomfortable. The mage never seemed to actually exert himself- he just kept going until he decided he was done. The idea alone was either very dangerous or dumb or both. Though in all fairness, he didn't say anything when she looted the bodies. She wasn't sure if it was because there was supposed to be some sort of fortune somewhere in these damn halls, or if the creepy bastard just didn't have any respect for the dead.

A thought occurred to her, and she entered the room to find the skeletons standing around, and the ever-present flask held to his lips. He put it back as she entered and merely looked her in the eye; it unnerved her. There was no emotion in those eyes; not excitement, distaste, anger, hatred, fear, surprise . . . Hells, she figured the guy could have a hooker offer him a free ride and those things probably wouldn't give any emotion at all! In order to avoid that sudden and disturbing train of thought, she decided to voice her original question.

"How many levels to this damn tower are there?" He handed her some potions from within his cloak as he answered her- his breath and demeanor not giving any sign he was in combat seconds before.

"From what we saw outside, there must have been at least 3 or 4 upper levels, then the ground level we came in through, and most likely 4 or 5 sub levels, given the age and structural issues." She raised a mocking eyebrow at this.

" 'Structural issues' ?" He deigned to blink.

"Yes. Older structures could never go more than 5 levels deep before the structural integrity of the building was compromised. Design flaws and whatnot." As they moved into the next room, she posed another question, raising her voice to be heard over his sudden coughing fit.

"And what makes you an authority on archaic structural integrity and design?" He didn't look back at her as he split up his skeletons into two rooms.

"You forget that Necromancers live in underground cities." She grunted at that, and moved to engage several Fallen Rogues that were making for the doorway. As she drew her Katar, she decided she wouldn't berate him for attracting enemies with his coughing. She blocked the first strike and parried with her left Katar, cutting the thing across its face, and planted a kick to its chest that sent it a few paces back into the room it had come from. Before she could engage the group further, a thin, bone-like spear plowed through the four creatures, killing them instantly, and sending the last creature flying into the wall, and subsequently turning it into a bloody paste. Her eyes narrowed.

"That's IT!" She spun on the Necromancer and stalked straight up to the pale son of a bitch until they were eye to eye. . . well, technically, since she was still looking up, if only a little. "You steal my kill one more time, Necromancer, and I will stop playing nice!" The eyes showed nothing, and the voice showed no feeling one way or another, though the words probably meant it was a joke of some kind.

"Pardon me. I thought we were in a hurry." And without another word, he turned and continued through the door. As he moved away, she found herself pondering mildly why he didn't seem to have a scent. She would have to remember that, just to keep him from having that much more of an edge if he ever tried to sneak up on her again. After scanning the room quickly for any decent loot, she followed him into the next room.

Aggowrath was not pleased. The trail showed no sign of an assassin, only Kan. If one really was with him, then . . . to hell with it, it was still bad, even if that fact didn't make sense. After all, a kidnapper wouldn't let their hostage do the fighting, right? Unless they were a retard. Then again, how could a retard ever kidnap anyone? He cursed as he realized that his wandering thoughts had kept him from stepping in Fallen guts. Growling, he continued onward. Kan had better be in trouble, or so help him god, the man would clean his boots and kiss his fat white arse!

"Are you done pilfering the dead?" he asked her from the shadows of the room, fighting to keep the boredom from his voice. Honestly, if one was going to search the pockets of every dead creature, one shouldn't take so much damn time to do it. Really, it was just unprofessional, plain and simple.

"Just wait until it's _your_ turn, Necromancer. I won't be as gentle with you as I am with them." Her voice did not portray the hostility, but the angular face certainly did. With a grunt, he turned and continued on down the dank hallway.

"Very well, then. I will be sure not to be alone with you when I die or spend any time in a bedroom." The Assassin's face was one of complete shock, turning only a few shades lighter red than her hair, the casual audacity of the man leaving her briefly stunned. Brows narrowed and anger in her every step, she quickly followed him.

" That time may be sooner than you think, Necromancer." His pace didn't slow.

"My, aren't _we_ forward. I thank you for the invite, Isis, but you'll have to forgive me if I turn down the offer. Try asking again when we're not in an evil ruin on our way to remove a damned woman's fortune, and I might reconsider." He didn't look behind himself as he continued on, though he wondered if he should have allowed himself that last jibe. He smiled as soon as he finished the thought.

"Isis, my dear, if your teeth grind any harder, they just might break. How about you enter the next room first this time?" She made a point of hitting him with her shoulder- hard- when she walked by him and entered the next room. He watched dispassionately as she shrieked and yelled as she took down one Fallen Rogue after another. She was passionate, that was certain; impatient and proud, too. He was tempted to chuckle. He normally only baited Aggowrath nearly this much, besides _her_. . . he ignored the shiver that went down his spine and took a swig from his flask, taking comfort from the burning that went down his throat.

He frowned; he could only allow himself four more drinks before the flask reached the halfway point and more drinking would influence his combat readiness. _Damnit all. Oh well._ He put the flask away and entered the room to see just how the woman had released her anger. . .

Aggowrath's face was grim as he eyed the ruins of the keep before him. Moss covered more than half of the remaining stones, and they all had a sickly red tint to them. In his gut, he felt the same tug he always felt in his gut when he encountered evil. The song of his ancestors whispered in his ears, singing of glory, combat, blood, and death. He caught his breath to stop the red veil from descending on him, and entered the floor level, cautious of overhead rubble and debris that could fall on him. He found a small trapdoor, which he took down, cursing as the fifth rung snapped under his weight and dropped him the next several feet into the murky hole. After dusting himself off, he looked around again, eyes wide and his hand gripping his mace tightly. Eyeing the hole, he spied two sets of footprints in the dirt besides his own: Kantorrak's, and a slighter, smaller pair. _Like the feet of a woman. Shyit!_ With an air of grim determination the Northman entered the dark, swearing to the powers that be that death would be a mercy to the woman who harmed his friend.

His determination did not falter as he made his way further down, though his level of confusion certainly spiked. On every floor, undead, Fallen Rogues, the bones of creatures he didn't even recognize; the two had gone through the tower already, and killed everything long before he did. The bastard that had Kan had already stripped the dead of everything worthwhile, which did nothing to improve his mood. By the third floor strewn about with corpses, he picked up his pace and followed the carnage more closely.

When he made his way down about five floors, he slowed, as he heard movement further in, something that was different from the stillness of the other floors. He was very quiet as he made his way through the giant pillars that lined this basement, sticking to the deepest part of the shadows. He stopped outside of an archway that served as a door, and heard Kantorakk's voice faintly, saying something. He heard the familiar sound Kan made as he drank from that damned flask of his. He heard a woman's voice, and he threw himself into the room with a yell and froze as soon as he had a clear view of the room. He quickly took stock of the situation.

Kan sat on a chest, drinking from his flask as though a giant man with a mace hadn't just screamed and run in on attack mode. Several of his conjured skeletons stood in the room among the dead bodies of Fallen Rogues. And there in the corner, glaring hatred and death at him from on the other side of Kantorakk, half hidden in shadow, was a lithe looking, waif of a woman with two angry looking katar drawn and ready. He stood still and moved his eyes from the woman to Kan and back again, doing this several times until it registered that Kan had an amused expression suppressed on his face. Grimacing in rage, he stomped forward as menacingly as he could, flipped his mace so he was holding it by that shaft, and whipped the handle across Kan's face before kicking the man off of the chest.

"You no good lousy sunnovabitch! I ougtha kill your sorry pale ass! Do you have ANY idea how god-damned infuriating it is to think your comrade's been kidnapped under Your own Gyod-damned nose?!? You count yerself lucky I'm not ganna brain the hell outta you! What in the seven hells were you thinking?! I don't care how hot she is or how crazy you are, _NO _piece of ass is worth running off to some damn haunted house! I- UGHF!"

The large man's rant was interrupted by two things: The flask being shoved in his wide open mouth, and the vicious kick to his side that left him staggering and winded. He jerked the flask out of his mouth and glared at the woman trying to stare him down, fighting back the red veil. If Kan wasn't worried, he probably shouldn't be either.

"One more word about me doing _anything_ with that pale bastard, and I'll use the blades, Northman!" Kantorakk had risen from the floor and was brushing himself off, coughing.

"I'm glad you meant well, Aggowrath," he paused as he coughed up something and spat it out over hi shoulder, " But the situation is under control."

"Then why the hell are you standing here with an _Assassin?!_ They_kill_ people like you, dumbass!" The Necromancer was far too calm for Aggowrath's liking, especially with that 'are you an idiot?" look on his face.

"Aggowrath, haven't you ever wondered exactly _who_ it was that got me out of the Graveyard where we fought Blood Raven? Did you ever stop and reflect on the fact that none of the Rogues in the camp or our companions had anything to do with it?" When Aggowrath glanced at the woman, she had her arms crossed and a scowl on her face, but the daggers were put away. He returned his mace to his belt, and looked her in the eye.

"If that's true, then I thank you for saving his life." She continued to glare.

"Actually, there's no need. I already thanked her, and we've made a deal." Aggowrath glared at the smaller man and waited for whatever compromise Kan had made that he wouldn't like; his feeling deepened when he saw the shit-eating-grin Kantorakk was suppressing. "She will be working with us for a while." His eyes bulged, and before he could respond, his friend had turned and shouldered his loot before leaving the room with the woman in tow. "Let's go home, shall we?" Aggowrath turned and followed, wondering if he should do something to reduce Kantorakk's confidence with a seething Barbarian behind him.

Considering he would have to fight with the remaining skeletons, he decided he would wait until Kan was drunk before he did anything. As he followed the unlikely pair up through the levels of the ruined building, he watched the two in silence. As they made their way into the fading sunlight out of the hole above the ruined ladder of the lower ground floor, he had to give the death mage credit: she had a really, _really_ tight ass. He chuckled to himself as he thought how fun it would be to see Kan fail to get a piece of it, and pulled himself out.

It was well past dark by the time the trio made their way into the camp, tired and hungry. They made their way to the fire pit, finding Allaria and Amarien there to greet them. They stopped mid-sentence when they saw the third person, Amarien's jaw continuing to work but no noise coming forth. Kantorakk deftly handed her a bowl of soup and pushed her jaw up before sitting down on a log that rested comfortably in the shadows cast by the firelight.

"You're safe, Sorceress. She's after a Druid, not you." He took a good sized sip from the soup bowl as the Barbarian sat down closer to the fire, snorting.

"Yeah, and the broad's working with us now, too." A glare in the general direction of the Necromancer told everyone what he thought of the idea, and he dropped his face into his soup, slurping loudly. The Assassin gave him a sharp look, and took a bowl for herself before sitting down and starting to eat. The other two women sat down again, though Amarien's voice still seemed to fail her. Allaria eyed the new woman warily.

"So just what makes you think you can start running around with us? We have spell casters with us too, you know. They're just a bit more important than a thief." The Assassin gave the blond a dark look and a wicked grin.

"Just what do you plan to do to stop me, Amazon?" She went back to her soup, and Allaria found herself interrupted by Kantorakk from the shadows.

"She helped me clear the ruined keep of the Countess. I think that should suffice." Allaria and Amarien shared a look, before Allaria looked back at the redhead and crossed her arms and legs, her mood entirely confrontational.

"And if helping to clear out a source of evil isn't enough for us? The enemy of my enemy is still an enemy." Aggowrath chuckled at the comment and reached for some bread. Kantorakk picked up a large sack and threw it to the small Sorceress before reaching into his pocket for his beloved flask.

"If your conscience won't listen to reason, then what about your wallet?" Amarien opened the bag and saw it was filled to bursting with a few nice sized gems and a large amount of gold coins. The Amazon'z brows narrowed as she glared at the necromancer.

"You think you can just bribe me like that, Pale One?" Her voice held a dangerous edge to it, and Aggowrath focused sharply on her from under his brow.

"Yes." With that, the dark man rose and walked off into the night, his near empty flask making a quiet sloshing noise as he left. Amarien watched him go and looked to her right, where the Amazon was still glaring after him, and Aggowrath had his face deep in his bowl. The assassin was still focusing on eating, though she was doing so far slower than the man seated next to her.

"Aggie, what do you think?" The big man gave a small burp and rose to refill his tankard.

"Well, she can fight and Kan seems willin' to work with her, so I figure it's safe enough. Not getting' anywhere near my tent, though." The Assassin scowled.

"No worries there fool; I really don't like pigs." He grunted and sat down again before resuming his wholesale consumption of the broth. Amarien leaned closer to her friend and politely whispered:

"She's not sleeping in _our_ tent, is she?"

"Oh,_hell_ no. No way." When Allaria turned her head to comment to the redhead that she was on her own for lodging, she found the seat empty.

"Where the hell did she go?"

Kantorakk leaned heavily on the palisade wall and waited for the spasms to pass, hacking up a large amount of fluid and spitting it into the nearby bushes. The coppery taste in his mouth told him exactly what it was; he didn't need to check the back of his hand to tell that he was bleeding. He took another large pull from his flask and downed it slowly, feeling the burning mingling with the pain in his chest as it went down. He would have to be more careful about the coughing spasms; mixed with the kick Aggowrath had given him, he would be in trouble if he didn't keep them down.

He had felt the tearing in his chest when the big man had kicked him, the burning letting him know just what kind of damage was going on. He would have to be more careful from now on. Standing upright, he slowly made his way back to his tent, his chest burning the entire way, but a smile on his face. His plan had worked well, assuming he could keep the woman from fighting with the others. Clearing his mind, he decided that _that_ particular issue could wait until tomorrow.

He entered his tent and lay down without even taking off his armor; covering himself with a blanket, he lay as still as the corpses he worked with. After several consecutive bouts of coughing, he drifted in to a black, and thankfully dreamless, sleep.


End file.
